


Tag Team

by Lex_Noctis



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Multi, Siblings, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2349533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lex_Noctis/pseuds/Lex_Noctis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU story about Jane and John Shepard. How they were saved on Mindoir, how they rose through the ranks, served on the Normandy. How they lost each other and what it took them to reunite before the storm of the Reaper war. [INDEFINITE HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jane: The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: ME1, ME2, Mass Effect: Redemption. Playing very loosely with canon for obvious reasons. Events happen out of order and/or differently then in the original story.  
> Warnings: I'm sorry, but there will be major character deaths. Yes, plural. Oh, yeah, additionally implied and possibly explicit incest between siblings. Otherwise, vanilla with depiction of mild graphic violence, swearing and angst, lots and lots of angst.  
> AN: Alternative Universe where Jane and John Shepard are twins. After surviving Mindoir they go hand in hand trough the N7 program and service on the Normandy. After the Collector attack they seem to be separated forever... but we'll get to that. I suddenly got the inspiration to write these two after seeing a great artwork with the Shepard twins fist-bumping each other. Kudos to park0g on dA for making it! As per usual I couldn't restrain myself to a one-shot so this is going to take a while.

The squad morale had been at all time low. After two months of uninterrupted skirmishes and hopeless attacks on the entrenched batarian positions the Alliance reinforcements finally arrived. The fresh marine corps had breached the fortified settlements with the help of heavy air support. But by that time it was already too late. The bulk of batarian slavers had evacuated to their small fleet of ships in orbit witch quickly made its escape through the Mass Relay. The resistance was compromised of rigged automated defenses and suicide squads. Once the last remaining slavers were killed, the cannons had been dismantled the full picture of what had happened crashed down on the regular troops and officers alike.

Most of the colony population was killed, the rest – taken. The bodies were unceremoniously piled up in the storage units and barns. The duty of identifying the dead had weighed heavily on the most hardcore veterans saying nothing of the green soldiers.

Marsden's squad had been tasked with patrolling the south range of Sillian forest. Only several hundred meters closest to the temporary outpost before the engineers fix the dish and link up with the satellites to map the whole area for possible batarian survives hiding in the woods. Sillian forest was spanning hundreds of kilometers in all directions to the south. The colonist haven’t gotten to clearing the space yet, there was enough farmland to go around on a relatively young and small colony.

As far as he could tell, there was no way anyone would be hiding in thees woods. It was too cold and too damp to wait out till spring. Even the natives would have trouble finding food or shelter at this time of year. Not to mention the predators.

Still this patrol duty should be a positive thing for his squad. Too much time had they spend rummaging through the ruble or helping the medics move the hermetically sealed body bags. A stroll through the woods seemed like a fairy tale next to the tragedy. A tragedy the avoided talking about. Marines were supposed to protect, save people, not sit on their collective asses and wait for help. Marsded grumbled in annoyance at himself. It was too late to beat up themselves or look to place blame. They all knew where the blame truly belonged and maybe someday, someday one of them would see justice done.

“Sarge, what was that?” the whisper suddenly came over his shoulder.

Hugo, his sniper, was pointing his optics past the clearing they were about to pass. Beyond that was a wall of ancient trees coupled with man-sized bushes. He could not see anything suspect, but Marsden grew to trust Hugo's intuition after said intuition saved his skin on more occasions her could count.

“Rhoddey, forward; Simmons and Kyd strafe left,” he ordered raising up his Avenger.

They proceeded with caution leaving Hugo to take his place behind them. Sergeant moved to the left-most tree noticing that the canopy of low branches combined with the walls of shrubs had created a sort of a huge tent in the middle of the clearing. He lowered his rifle and reached with his arms to pray the bushes open when an angry growl came from behind.

“What the hell?” he muttered reaching back to his weapon, but before he could do that Hugo's voice sounded in his transmitter.

“Don't shoot, guys. It's not slavers. It's...”

If Marsden did not known his sniper for so long and wan not absolutely sure there was nothing that could surprise the man, her would sweat Hugo was shocked speechless. But after one of the bush walls fell back – it was man-made after all – the sight before him was enough to prove him wrong. Now the Sarge himself was speechless.

“Holy fuck, it's kids...” the stupefied voice came from the burly giant Simmons on the left.

In the furthest corner of the natural tent was a pair of teenagers not older then sixteen. The boy was laying on a makeshift bed out of giant leaves and shrubbery. He was visibly ill: his features were hardened by hunger, his face was pale and sweaty and his whole body was shivering with fever. But before him on one knee ready to strike was a girl. Her bright red hair was messy, torn at one side. She was also looking pale, the traces of hunger, dirt and blood on her face. Yet she was confidently holding a long army knife in one hand steadying a heavy rock in another. The rabid expression on her face had only one message to give: you move any closer and you die.

It was unbelievable. How did two kids survive out here? How long have they been on the run?

“Um... Hello. My name is Sergeant Marsden. I'm with the Alliance Marine corps. There's nothing to be afraid anymore. The slavers are gone. You are safe now.”

“Prove it.” the snarl the girl had spit out had been searing with distrust.

“Look, we are all wearing Alliance armor, surely you have seen Alliance soldiers before.”

Sarge paused seeing how that was not convincing not only the girl, but himself. Her was thoughtful a moment. Who knows what horrors these kids had to witness. The only thing he could do was to be honest.

“Okay there, kid. I'm going to put my rifle on the ground right here.” He proceeded to follow what he been saying very slowly. “Now I'm going put my helmet next it it. See, no weapons? Now I'm going to slowly go and check on the boy.”

Seeing the heightening tension in the girls pose and the whoosh of panic in her eyes he continued:

“He's obviously sick. He needs medical attention. Through I'm not a medic I can give him some medi-gel and look if he's been seriously injured. You care about him a great deal to be willing to protect him so much, don't you?”

“He broke his foot.” the words came out as if against her will. She had to be brave, to keep watch, but... These people did not look like slavers. She moved slightly to the side and gestured with her knife to the boy. “Go.”

Marsden was as far removed from medicine as any professional soldier would be. He knew how to administer medi-gel, how to scan for serious injuries, how to patch up a comrade so that he doesn’t die before passing him on to the medics. Still that was enough to conclude that the boy really needed more then what he could offer. His foot was straightened and fixed with several branches and what looked like strips of his shirt in a makeshift casket. It looked fine for the moment especially after a generous dose from Sergeants midi-gel's dispenser.

The fever was another thing altogether. It was completely out of his expertise. Though it looked really serious.

“His foot will be fine, the casket had been done nicely. His fever, however, is very dangerous. He needs to go see a doctor. I will call for an Evac to pick us up.” He glanced at the wincing girl, pained expression spread across her face. “You can listen to the call as long as you give me the knife. I promise there is nothing to fear from now on.”

The girl considered him for a while, then sighed, spun the knife in her palm so that the handle was facing him and extended her hand. After Marsden took it she plopped on the ground slouching against the trunk of the tree and hugging her legs. She looked like a normal if quite a bit dirty teenaged girl. Sergeant smiled. This is what marines were supposed to do.

The next words out of her mouth shattered the peaceful image in his head.

“There are two batarian pieces of scum laying in a ditch to the west. One has a wound in his chest, the other has a slit throat.”

She said it without any expression like she was reciting a well memorized lesson.

“Did you find them?”

The girl did not answer only glancing at the knife in his hand. Sergeant had to swallow. He looked back at his squad:

“Simmons, Kyd! Go find the bodies.”

Then he turned back to the girl who was rocking back and forth slowly. After he requested for an Evac sitting next to her on the ground and, as promised, letting her hear every word, he turned and put a reassuring hand around the skinny shoulders. She flinched at the touch, but did not try to run away or throw the hand off.

“What's your name, kid?”

“Jane. Shepard, I think.”

“And his?” he gestured at the boy.

“John.”

“Are you brother and sister?”

“Dunno.”

“Where could your parents be? How did you two ended up here?”

“We ran from the fire and screams. We tried to hide. We tried to hide here in the forest.”

“What about your family?”

“Don't remember.”

“What do you mean, girl?”

“Nothing before the forest. Don’t remember. Had to survive. We did, didn't we?”

“Yes, you did.” his big hand rested on the ruffled, patched red locks, patting the kid as gently as his hardened military soul could allow.

“And everything will be okay now? Johnny said it will be...”

“It will. It's over now, kid. You did well.”

The girl broke down completely. She was sobbing uncontrollably into her hands until the Evac shuttle arrived.

Marsden checked up on the kids regularly during the next months. With the help of medics and field investigators the Alliance managed to piece together what had happened. The DNA test conclusively proven that Jane and John Shepard were siblings, fraternal twins. It also helped identify their next of kin. Unfortunately all the members of Shepard family had been confirmed killed during the attack on the nearest settlement to where the kids had been found.

John's fever was not as threatening as they through and his foot had been healing nicely. Physically the twins had been as good as it could be wished for. Psychologically on the other hand... The doctors said it was suppressed memories because of the trauma, but that was best case scenario. The amnesia could persist their whole lives. There was no way to tell.

Field investigators had reconstructed somewhat their story. According to the evidence they escaped the settlement after the first wave of slavers were already entrenched. The twins had to have witnessed all the horror of the slaughter. They disappeared into the forest moving for hidy-hole to hidy-hole. Two batarian scouts stashed in the ditch were killed almost a month ago. But all in all the kids had been hiding on their own for almost two.

The last time Sergeant visited the kids before being reassigned to another post they surprised him yet again. John and Jane resolutely standing next to each other thanked him once again and announced that they were going to join the Alliance military. He was very touched. The kids were going to be enrolled in a military school on Earth until they turned eighteen and could be enlisted. He was sure they had a bright future awaiting them.

“ _At least that's how uncle.. sorry, Captain Marsden had told the story to everyone who wanted to listen...”_

Jane rubbed her eyes and reached out for the next bottle. It was empty. All the bottles were empty. Dammit.

She was half-laying across the desk reminiscing about the better times. The single tiny light from the lamp on the desk had barely illuminated the darkness of the room. The supply of alcohol could have been better, but her biotics had robbed her of the blissful escape into drunken haze anyway. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Even on that horrible day of all days back on Mindoir, the day she still could not fully remember after all these years, even then her brother had been there for her.

He said it would be okay. Johnny said they could do it. Survive. Together. And they did! Together.

They tried to never, ever be apart again. They shared the Academy, N7 program, most of their military career. For a while they got separated on assignments and everything went straight to hell! John's unit was eaten by a goddamned giant worm! He himself barely survived. Maybe the determination of Mindoir had played a part. After leading several successful Black Ops missions Jane had to go to Torfan. The damned Strategists knew who to send when a job needed to be done. She eliminated every enemy in her path. They were batarians. It was sweet. So sweet that she did not care about the losses or rules. They all had to die, all of them.

John would have found another way. He always wanted to be the model poster child for Alliance propaganda. The virtuous and honorable! The paragon of goodness, puppies and lollipops!

She used to tease him about it, too. Even get into real fights over allowed strategy and the lines one should and shouldn't cross. That was fun.

Too late now. He was dead. Johnny left her and he was not coming back. Serving on the Normandy was without a doubt the best assignment they had, not in small part because they were together again. But she had lost him on that godforsaken day in the space above Alchera all the same. They wanted to eat dinner together, maybe play some vidgames. It's curious how much you miss the normal, meaningless things, but not until after you can't possibly do them anymore.

The attack caught her in the shower. Without giving a second thought about her nakedness, Jane busted through the door the second she identified the tremors as evasive maneuvers and hull hits rather then just some turbulence – Joker was way too good a pilot to degrade himself with turbulence anyway. She emerged in the captain quarters still covered with old fashioned by galactic standards Earth soap spray and clutching a much smaller towel then she needed in one hand.

John was there already clad in his N7 armor with a blue tint line along the left arm as opposed to her red. He grabbed his helmet form the desk and spun around to look at her. At the moment he could not care less about her nakedness either.

“We're under attack. Grab your gear, I'll be at the fire controls. Get Kaidan to stuff Joker in an escape pod or he will go down with the ship.”

He rushed out of the room knowing she needed no other information. Grumbling at the rotten luck Jane hastily ran the towel over her body barely drying herself in the process. She darted to the locker at the other end of the room. The minimum passing time to put on armor for a N7 graduate is 5 minutes. This time Jane was done in three.

She stormed out of the room taking a b-line towards the armament controls. Kaidan was still fiddling with the console. It was an exercise in futility – the wiring in the wall behind him and all around the ceiling was burning. Jane heard a series of explosions as the ship shook violently. The old girl was done, without her main advantage – stealth and surprise – the Normandy was crippled with the first shot. They were dead in the water, or rather space.

“Lieutenant! Stop with this nonsense immediately! The ship is lost! There are better things to do now then this!”

Kaidan looked up at her wearing a shell shocked mask, he shook his head and got up.

“Sorry, Major, force of habit. My first thought was to return fire. What are your orders, ma'am?”

Jane used two precious minutes to think their situation through. John wanted Lieutenant to get Jeff off the bridge. They all knew the bastard would not leave the ship on his own: he neither could nor would want to. This was the right thing to do, the first priority would be to evacuate the crew, save as many as possible. But... John could use some help with the controls, the fires ought to have spread by now. She made her decision propelling her body into action.

“Alenko, you go help Commander with the fire controls and then see to the crew evacuation if he does not need you. I'll drag Joker's crippled ass outta here. Move it!”

“Aye, aye!”

They sped up through the burning, crumbling ship praying for the kinetic barrier not to give out on them. Kaidan tapered off, his white red armor disappearing among the smoke clouds.

Jane turned the corner to the closest flight of stairs. She was promptly greeted by an explosion, the wave of fire rolled down the steppes followed by collapsing chunks of inner hull and searing bits of wiring. The redhead had a split second to duck behind the main bulkhead. Pressing herself close to the heating up metal, she thanked her heightened by years of training reflexes. The flames were choked in the rubble, but she was surrounded by smoke. Jane could hear her own hard breathing steadily consuming the limited supply of air in her armor. The optics in her helmet whizzed trying to compensate for the smoke and extreme heat.

Being guided more by her knowledge of the ship and innate sense of direction rather then any of the other overwhelmed senses she stumbled up the other staircase. The sealed door slid open sucking what remaining air was left in the main level out into space.

The view was breathtaking. Normandy was adrift above the blue-white ice planet barrel-rolled at some point during the attack with its top towards the surface of the world. The whole of the CIC was obliterated. Outer hull was sliced off with bits and pieces still trailing after the struggling ship. However, Jane did not have time nor the desire to take in the view; the only fleeting thought she had was about how lucky it was that the energy weapon did not destroy the floor.

Sprinting in what was technically outer space with only magnetic boots keeping her from floating off into the distance had been particularly difficult. Shepard was moving agonizingly slowly and not for the lack of trying. As soon as she saw the shimmering blue wall of internal kinetic barrier keeping blocking off the bridge Jane let out a sigh of relief that she immediately stifled. The air supply was not unlimited for fuck sake, she had to restrain her breathing.

Shepard crossed the threshold feeling the speed and ease of movement returning. Pilot was wearing his emergency helmet. His fingers ware flying frantically over the interface, rotating, pushing and moving parts of it.

“Come on, Joker! I got to get you the hell off this ship!”

“No! I won't abandon the Normandy! I can still save her!”

“Stiff it! The goddamned ship is dead and so are we if we don't get the fuck away right now!”

She grabbed his arm unceremoniously pulling the pilot to get up. He wiggled out of her grip glaring stubbornly at her.

“Major, I can do it! There's still crew on board! We have to give them more time! Maybe I can guide the Normandy for a slow descent...”

Just as Jane was about to either yell at the stubborn mule or, more likely, simply knock him out and stuff his unconscious body into the escape pod, she heard the heavy steps from behind. Rounding up on the blown to pieces CIC she saw a figure she secretly hoped already left the doomed ship. The man pushed himself through the barrier and stood next to her.

They were like a perfectly matched set in their N7 armors. John was much taller, his sister only reaching an inch above his shoulder. The only difference in their armor aside from the obvious gender adjustments were the colors of the accent stripe. One blue, the other – red. Still they looked like the iconic pair off of the military posters.

“Distress beacon is set, Alenko got most of the crew to the shuttles. We're the only ones who are still here and not dead.” John's voice sounded tired even through the distortion of the radio. “Having trouble with our favorite pilot?”

“Nothing I can't handle. Joker, you are a pain in the ass, but I don’t want to see you die. I'd rather hit you on the head and get the baby talk over with.”

“You know, she will do it. And this time I really don't have a problem with it.”

Jeff looked at their unified front and threw his arms in frustrated defeat.

“Alright, alright, not gonna go down with the ship. Way to go, ganging up on a cripple. Just help me up!” he glanced at the smaller Shepard. “Gentler this time if you don't mind, ma'am.”

While Jane was helping Joker to limp to the escape pod John was looking up through the hole in the hull checking something on his Omni-tool. His warning roar caught them about half way to their destination.

“They are coming in for another attack! Brace for impact!”

The golden beam hit what was left of the galaxy map cutting through the lower hull like sharp knife going through butter. It moved around separating into several smaller lasers. One of witch was rapidly closing in on them.

Jane pushed the pilot to move faster shoving him in the opened airlock of the pod. She turned around expecting John to be right next to her, but only managed to grab onto the safety railings as the ship shook in another set of violent explosions. The golden beam was burrowing through the hull between them. It completely cut off Commander from the escape pod. The radio screeched with distorted noise and then his voice cut through:

“Jane, get in, _now!_ I'll find another way off this boat!”

She reached out to him, there were no other ways off the ship – all the other escape pods were either already launched or destroyed, even if one survived the path to deck 2 was completely impassable – they both knew he was not getting away.

“No, you can't... Please, no...” Jane whispered in her communicator feeling her iron will crumbling to pieces.

“Joker, get her on the shuttle and start the damned thing up! You don't have any more time!”

The loyal pilot took a hold of Jane's arm and pulled her in the escape pod; he had to use all of his strength because the shell shocked Major was reaching to her brother unconsciously trying to get to him as her mind was shattered.

Only the sound of confirmation of launch had got her out of the horror stricken passivity. Janie yelled shoving Joker off of her, she launched herself forward, but the door of the pod slammed shut in her face. She reached for her radio – the helmet-to-helmet signal was still active!

“John, don't do this to me! We promised to always stay together! You can't die on me! Come back!!”

“Sorry, sis, you'll have to... sshhshshhs... I lov... …rhgh... ...remember... Janie.... ghrshshdshhhhsh...”

“NO!!”

The utter devastation of that moment will always stay with her. The moment Jane knew she would never see or hear her brother again.

“ _If only the damned cripple had not pulled me in...”_

A singe on guilt seared through her. Joker was partially at fault – they came beck for him after all, but he surely did not meant it to happen... She broke his arm shoving him back off of her as the automatic doors of the escape capsule closed. Jane punched the doors as long as she had the strength, swearing, yelling at them to open, then pleading, begging for the door to open. As the sounds of the Normandy blowing up had grown more and more distant she curled on the floor of the escape pod and sobbed. Jane could not care anymore that Jeff would see, she forgot all about the pilot.

John was gone. He was really gone and there was not a thing in the entire universe that could make anything better.

After the rescue she put on a brave mask, apologized to Joker, went back to her duties. But it wasn’t the same. The brass gave them time off, but she declined. Jane had to be doing something. Anything to dull the pain. She was reassigned to Black Ops again. She took on the most dangerous assignments. It was stupid and reckless. Jane did not care.

Months passed since the Normandy went down. Her requests for a retrieval mission had been denied seven times. She just wanted to bury her brother. Give him a proper send off even though Jane was not sure she could stomach the ceremony. Then, after speaking to some of her old crew mates, she understood what the brass was trying to do. The vids with Commander John Shepard, the first human Spectre, were still in circulation! They haven't announced he had died! Normandy's last mission was classified, the crew split up and reassigned to farthest postings from each other. The Reapers had become a joke on the Citadel! No one listened, no one believed. They all just wanted to cover it all up!

And Jane had it with them! She resigned from Alliance, withdrew all their savings and landed in this shithole of a hotel room on Omega. The beacon was right, her brother was right, Blue, the fucking prothean scientist was right! All there was left is to wait for the Reapers to arrive sooner or later and obliterate this whole fucked up galaxy!

Yeah! She rose her glass high in the air toasting the coming abominations and tried to drink. The glass was still empty. Jane swore under her breath. This was the point of the night when she drank all there was to drink and coiled up on the bed crying herself to sleep.

The Omni-tool left idle for hours on the nightstand had buzzed. Someone wanted to talk to her. Jane did not want to talk to anyone. Fuck them all, it's all their damned fault! But the buzzing kept on. Whoever that was they sure were persistent.

The redhead growled with rising anger and irritation. She clambered to her feet and strode towards the nightstand on firm feet. Her heightened metabolism had already wiped the floor with all the alcohol she was consuming for hours. That only worsened her already foul mood.

Jane grabbed the Omni-tool, punched in the comm and yelled straight in the screen at whoever managed to piss her off.

“Whatever you're selling I'm not buying and if you're not going to fuck off in two seconds I'm gonna find you and make sure you are eating through a straw for the rest of your pathetic life!”

She finally looked at the person on the on the end of the call. Asari. Blue eyes, drawn on eyebrows, white freckly tattoos. While lab coat/field armor. Liara. The former archeologist had completely ignored her outburst eying her with a relieved expression.

“Oh, thank Goddess, I have tracked you down, Jane! There is something I have to tell you!”

“Hey, Blue. Sorry about the bad greeting, but I'm really not in the mood. Just don’t care anymore. Leave the galaxy saving to someone else. It doesn't deserve it anyway, as far as I'm concerned.”

She sounded bitter, annoyed and tired. It was not fair to Liara, the asari had been there for her when she needed a friend, but Jane could not bring herself to consider anyone else' feelings. She was done with all the pretense.

“Jane, listen to me! There is a way to bring him back!”

“What?”

Were her biotics messed up? Was she still drunk? Or maybe she did pass out and this was a bad dream?

“This is not a joke! There is no guarantee and it’s going to be dangerous to try, but there is a way! Shepard, are you listening?”

“Blue... If this is some sort of a sick asari mourning ritual, I'm gonna...”

“It is not! I swear. It's true. We can bring him back.”

The room was spinning. Where there was no hope, no tomorrow, no nothing, maybe there could be something? A tiny bit of insane, completely desperate wishful thinking. It was selfish and unhealthy, but... Jane did not even believe the asari, not at all. Dead do not come back to life. Then again, there was nothing to do until the end came with the Reapers...

“Fine. Let's say I believe you, what's next?”

“We have to meet. Can you come to the Gozu district, dock G-17?”

“Wait, Blue, you're on Omega?”

“Yes, but this is not a matter that can be discussed on a call. Meet me in half an hour. I will explain everything.”

“Deal. I'll be there.”

 

 

**TBC...**

 


	2. John: Pick up the Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more warning, this story is structured out of chronological order. Each chapter follows the character who’s name is in the title. There are two main narrative story lines – one for Jane and one for John, but there will be intermediate chapters focusing on other characters and/or other time periods.

It was the Thresher Maw! Terrible screeching noise filled the air. The centipede-like body coiled wounding up before the strike. They were running, running for cover, but it was too far. One by one the monster had snatched his men. It ripped them apart flinging body parts across the field. They were supposed to be under his command, his protection! They were running. Only two of them left.

Rushing past the barracks and temporary settlement buildings – those were not safe – they ran with all their might feeling the air burning in their lungs. Finally the safety of solid, deep rock formation. The ridge reached as far as the eye could see. The marine next to him slaps him on the shoulder and removes her helmet.

The scarlet hair flows rustled by the wind.

_Jane? No... You wasn’t there... They separated us._

But instead she smiles to him one of those impossibly adorable smiles. The freckles give her a mischievous, devilish look. It's like those sparks of fire have a life of their own. She starts running towards him, shoulder length hair flowing free against regulations.

Why is he suddenly so far away? He starts running himself. John is running with all his strength, but the distance doesn't change. There's something behind her... Something enormous!

“Jane! Look out!!”

The look of utter horror on her face. She doesn't need to look back to know what it is. The jaws are falling down in a rush of screeching. She is reaching towards him, holding her hands up. The horrible sound of breaking bones, ripping armor and flesh makes him nauseous. Covered in blood and guts the sharp, jagged edge of the Maw's tongue is sticking out of her stomach. The agony in her green eyes, the dark blood flowing out of her mouth, the weak hands grabbing at the sharp bone in a desperate attempt to get it out...

John wants to look away, run to her, away from her, crush the overgrown worm into bloody dust with his bare fists – all at the same time – but all he can do is stare helplessly, suspended in his terror. His vision is bleary, clinically he notices the tears clouding his vision.

“Johnny!” the sound of her voice is wrong. It's young, too young.

He takes a step back. There is no Maw. His sister is... is... oh, god, no...

Janie is small, jangly mess. Her hair is messy and torn, her face is covered with blood and dirt. Her armor is gone, casual clothes are disheveled, a sleeve is missing form her hoody. She is sixteen again. A tall batarian slaver is holding her in a tight grip across her middle. He's snarling right in her face.

Janie is screaming, trying to get out of his iron grip, wildly kicking with her legs, shoving, biting and scratching. The batarian pulls out a knife and holds it high. Jane screams louder.

John tries to reach for his gun, but there is none. He's in his shorts and a baggy shirt, there's dirt everywhere. His arms are scrawny like the years of harshest training regiments did not happen at all. He is sixteen again.

And his foot is broken. Loosing his balance he falls on his face feeling the moisture and coolness of winter forest. He lifts his head and sees many more batarian slavers coming trough the tree lines from all directions. They aim their weapons at him, pull out their knifes.

“No! This is not how it happened!” he screams at them.

“Johnny! You said it's gonna be alright! You promised!”

“He lied to you, huh, kid?” the batarian holding Jane is snarling the worst mocking snarl possible. “He couldn't protect you and now he gets to see you die.”

“No...” John whispers. This could not be happening. Batarian turns to him.

“Alright, kid, if that's what you want. How about you die and leave her with us? We'll have lots of fun with your girlfriend here!”

“What?” hew watches, stupefied, as the slaver pulls out his long tongue and licks her cheek slowly. Janie's face is full of disgust, she yelps in pain as the harsh like sandpaper tongue is leaving a trail of bloody marks.

The golden beam pierces the sky striking all around him and John can not breathe, he's convulsing and thrashing on the ground. The torture is unbearable, it's like a giant invisible hand is squeezing his body out of all the air. A scream filled with horror reaches his ears non the less.

“Johnny, no! You promised!” it changes, the voice is older, lower now, more commanding. “John, don't do this to me! We promised to always stay together! You can't die on me! Come back!!”

The woman is shrieking right in his ear, the despair in her voice crushing over all his senses.

“JOHN!!”

He wakes in a dark room staggering on the bed. His hands blindly try to reach her, but there's no one in his cabin. John sits up covering his face with trembling hands. He's covered with sleek cold sweat. The sheets below him are drenched. The nightmare had lasted much longer this time.

That dream again. It's worse then the nightmares he used to get. First after Mindoir, then after Akuze. The meds and counseling helped back then. Jane never needed any of it. She slept like a baby. She was always the stronger one. He shakes his head and moans in his hands.

No one knew what had happened to her. Not Joker, not even the Illusive Man. Jane was involved in some Black Ops after he died, but two years ago she just disappeared without a trace.

He threw the sheets off of him and stumbled wearily to the shower. John splashed cold water over his face and head, running his hands over the buzz-cut then pressing his fingers tightly to his eyes. His muscles shuddered violently, so much so that he had to grip at the sink to steady himself and rest the weight of his body on it. John looked up at the face reflected in the mirror. The man could barely recognize himself. There were black circles under his bloodshot eyes, his cheeks became hollow, the web of not yet completely healed cybernetic scars covered his jaw glowing with ominous orange through the stubble.

John sighed heavily slumping his broad shoulders. He would have never thought that being brought back to life would be such a stressful, exhausting, nerve wracking experience. From the first moment on when he was woken up on the Lazarus Station John could not catch a break. But being shot at and risking his own life was not what gave him nightmares. On the contrary, he always felt at ease in the field, making a difference. The things they have told him, on the other hand, the reality of what had happened...

Two years! The Normandy gone, his crew disbanded, send all over the Alliance as if separated on purpose; on top of it no one had been doing anything to prepare for the Reapers! John could still not quite believe it. Anderson had become the human Councilor – he, of all people, must have done something! The other Councilors may have already shown that they could be this blind, but not his old mentor.

After witnessing what had happened on Freedom's Progress, John could not deny the danger the Collectors posed not only to the human worlds, but tho the well being of the galaxy. However, that did not mean Shepard began to fully believe the Illusive Man, let alone trust him. He has seen what Cerberus was capable of. The experiments, the assassinations. They always were hardly more then a terrorist xenophobic organization. Very well founded, efficient, expertly led, more reasonable then the extremists like Terra Firma, but still operating on the basis of the same flawed assumption: the ends justify the means.

Shepard let out a hollow laugh. Jane actually supported that would view. They used to have huge, nuclear arguments about use of force, consequences and moral decisions. Janie adopted the philosophy of “eye for an eye” ever since before the Academy. It was almost funny how they ended with almost opposite lookouts on the galaxy. John “bought in”, as she called it, into the whole optimistic Alliance virtues package. The recruitment vids going on about loyalty, duty, honor, integrity, courage and defending the innocent. He admitted, though begrudgingly, that the brass and politicians could be wrong, but the idea, the core purpose of the Alliance and the Citadel – a peaceful coalition of equal members – was created for all the right reasons.

Janie tirelessly teased him about his idealism. The galaxy is a violent, dark, dirty place, she kept on saying. The only way to preserve order is to be ready to execute force. The only way to provide and uphold justice is to punish the guilty party with maximum prejudice. They even had an argument about Cerberus after one of the missions back then. Jane would have been much more at ease working with the organization. She could take charge right from the start of any squad, any situation, any assignment. John was always a bit jealous of that quality. He needed to get to know his crew. For him command was about knowing about his subordinates, he liked to work with people, not just cogs in the military machinery.

Shepard put a hand on the back of his neck massaging the tensed muscles. He left the bathroom still feeling drained. It was almost like he wasn't really alive yet. His reanimated body was going through the motions, but his mind and soul were trapped far away in happier times.

John stepped down the three steps, walked around the low coach table to his secondary desk. There were three photo frames standing on it next to the terminal. The most right one was displaying the Normandy. The old one, SR-1. It was strange to think this way of the ship he loved so much. The brand new ship in the picture was suspended in high orbit above Earth. An exact copy of this photo was given to him by Anderson after he took command of the Normandy. Of course, that frame was incinerated in the Collector attack along with all of his possessions. All of there photo frames were replicas. The back up extranet archive locked to Johns DNA authorization remained untouched for two years, but still intact.

Next to the Normandy was a group photo of the old crew. It was taken right before Virmire. John was standing right in the middle with Jane at his left and Garrus at his right. Next to Jane were Pressly and Joker, to the right of Garrus stood Liara. On a step higher towards the CIC was the massive red figure of Urdnot Wrex towering between Ashley and Kaidan. All around the squad was the crew, every last crew member from navigators to engineers, requisition officers and security marines.

Looking at it John could almost hear the roaring laughter exploding from Wrex and the indignant response coming from Ashley. He could almost feel the warmth of the small shoulder at his left. Everyone was smiling, laughing, innocent of the hardships to come.

The most left picture was the oldest and the most precious. Within the vertical frame were much younger versions of John and Jane. It was taken after they graduated from the Academy and had received the full N7 honors. Both were wearing brand new N7 t-shirts. John was smiling contently as he held his sister on his left arm. Jane had one arm around his neck for support while brandishing the other in the air above her head with the closed fist threatening the heavens. Her hair was cut very short back then, real pixie style, but the patchy, rebellious red locks still found a way to look disheveled. She was laughing and shouting something triumphant.

Shepard permitted himself an ironic chuckle under his breath. If the redhead could see him now mopping about, uncertain of his place, haunted by the nightmares of his past – the terrible and the wonderful memories, she would kick his ass from one end of the ship to the other. He breathed out heavily and straightened his spine. There were people depending on him, there were wrongs to put right and dead to avenge.

John felt a sad smile creep up at his lips. It was a shadow of his usual smile, barely noticeable on the worn out face. He was a Spectre, the Hero of the Citadel, Savior of the Council. They will listen to him, whatever the Illusive Man tried to achieve by insinuating the Council turned their backs on humanity, John believed in the system. Anderson will have his back. The other councilors if stubborn and wrapped up in their own agendas could be convinced of the truth, there had to be a way!

Visiting his old mentor also meant John had a chance to figure out what Black Op Jane was assigned to last, maybe Anderson had more information then the Illusive Man, her was the human Councilor after all. Then there were Kaidan, Garrus, Liara, maybe even Wrex. If the krogan gotten the idea to untie the clans under his rule, he probably would not join up. The others on the other hand...

John could not possibly believe the things the Cerberus leader told him. Liara working for the Shadow Broker? Preposterous! Garrus missing, going undercover so deep that even Cerberus sources could not find him? Unlikely. Why would the turian go on a secret mission or disappear? He might have had a thought of re-joining C-Sec, but then there should have been the paper trail. None of it made any sense.

At least Kaidan was still with the Alliance. Anderson would know where he's stationed. He could even reassign the biotic to the Normandy again. With Anderson's help he could probably get his old crew back. The people he trained, trusted. Furthermore, with the backing from the Council getting a beat on Collectors will be easy pickings.

John bend down to the terminal and pressed some keys. The numbers glowed on the screen in warm orange. “ETA to the Citadel: 6 hours 28 minutes.” Not long. Once they arrived Shepard could finally start getting his life back to what it was. Put it all back together. Plus he could get some real answers from a trustworthy source. _The_ trustworthy source.

**. . .**

“Why do you have to follow me, again?” asked the man irritably.

The brunette woman clad in a skintight leather catsuit was walking briskly beside him not missing a step. Miranda insisted on accompanying John on his visit to the Citadel.

“As I stated before, a lot has changed in two years. You will not receive the same welcome you hope for. I have spend more then enough time putting you back together to deny myself the satisfaction of witnessing the Great Commander Shepard crumbling in his legendary idealism.”

John stopped abruptly and turned to stand nose to nose with the woman. Thanks to the high heels on her boots and already substantial height Miranda was not an inch shorter then he was. They looked straight into each others eyes. The heavy glare with witch John regarded the operative with only intensified.

“What the hell is wrong with you? This is not a game, people are depending on us! With the Council’s help we will be able to locate and hit the Collectors in no time. I thought the wellbeing of human colonies would tramp whatever animosity Cerberus has towards the Council.”

“How naive,” Miranda frowned. “The Council has been suppressing information about the Reapers for years. They did not lift a finger to investigate the missing colonists. Of course, why would they bother? The colonies are in Terminus Systems! The Council only cares about what happens in Council space and even then it has to benefit them in some way to merit an intervention. My distrust and disrespect are justified. Your blind faith in all the propaganda is not. Honestly, I think this trip is a colossal waste of time, a resource we do not have in abundance. We should have secured the professor first.”

She paused. There was something about her speech. Like Miranda did not only want to give him a piece of her mind, but also convince him there was another way to look at things.

“However, this is your command, Shepard, and if you want to be disappointed so be it, but I'm going to be there when you do.”

“Why, though?” John was getting more irritated by the minute.

Was it because she hit a raw spot? Shepard stubbornly ignored the logic in whatever Cerberus people kept telling him, the small pings of doubt were stuffed as far away as possible. Maybe it was because of the superior attitude the operative was oozing all over. Miranda was too confident, too convicted of Cerberus methods and ideology being justified. John was having more difficulty ignoring her opinions the more time he spend aboard the new Normandy.

The truth was that Miranda was too smart not to see through the deception, yet she was implicitly loyal to the Illusive Man and his organization. The math did not add up. Could it be possible that there was no deception, that they have been telling him the truth all along?

“Why do you want to witness me being disappointed or even betrayed if what you say is true? Some kind of morbid curiosity? Miranda, you have spend two years of your life on me, I'd think you might trust in me more. What was the reason, the whole point of bringing me back in the first place?”

The tall brunette looked back at him with those cold blue eyes.

“I have brought you back because we need you. That is a fact. It does not mean that I trust you. Let's get one thing straight: _you_ will have to be the one earning my trust. Commander Shepard, Hero of the Citadel, the leader we need, but as long as you cling to your idealistic, completely disconnected view of the galaxy, you don't stand a chance in hell against the Reapers! And by extension so do we!”

She looked on with satisfaction as an incredulous expression spread over his features.

“The reason I will be there when you meet with the Councilors is to see you face reality as it is. So that you can survive whatever is coming next. And when they inevitably crush your expectations, when you feel betrayed,” she suddenly smiled an open, genuine smile. “I will be there. In case you need me.”

The incredulous look did not leave the Commander's face, on the contrary, he was just short of staring at her with his mouth gaping open. The Ice Queen cared for his emotional state, not simply his mental and physical readiness for the mission!

“But why would you care?” he whispered still shocked by the revelation.

Miranda turned away. Her posture tightened for a moment.

“I made a promise to someone. A certain someone I owe my life to. To bring you back and to give you the best fighting chance possible. To make sure you can survive, lead and live a life. I keep my promises.“

She strode to the end of the hallway making it plain that this conversation was over.

**. . .**

During the skyride to the Presidium Shepard thought about what he had already seen on the Citadel. Miranda was right, at least regarding some things. Sovereign's attempt to summon the Reapers through the Citadel Relay was labeled as a simple geth attack. The so called higher security was a joke. C-Sec personnel and the receptionist never even saw a video of a geth platform, what hope had they of identifying one?

In the peaceful, seemingly secure stillness of the Citadel people were passive, almost apathetic. Looking on all if this splendor, it was indeed hard to believe some four or five Relay jumps away whole colonies were being abducted.

Once they arrived to the human Councilor's office Miranda squeezed his elbow in a very uncharacteristic gesture and slid out of view of the holo projectors. He could not help but feel grateful. The operative made her stance crystal clear, but she would not interfere with what he had to do.

He was greeted by Anderson as if they haven't seen each other a week at best rather then long two years.

“Commander! John, I was just talking about you with the other Councilors!”

They shared a strong handshake. The see-through figures on the holo projectors watched on as they exchanged greetings.

“It's been a while, Anderson. I hope the years have treated you right in my absence.” John allowed himself a hollow chuckle that did not go unnoticed by his old mentor.

“There have been rough spots and good times, but the best is right now. It's good to have you back, John.”

They were loudly interrupted by the turian Councilor:

“The Council was informed of many rumors surrounding your unexpected return, Commander. Some if them are rather unsettling.”

Councilor Tevos picked up the conversation with her even, perfectly leveled voice.

“We have arranged this meeting so that you can explain your actions, Shepard. We owe you that much. After all, it was because of your council that Major Shepard rallied the Alliance vessels saving our lives in the battle against Saren and his geth.”

John took a breath and launched into the explanation. He used his best techniques to convince the Councilors. His voice was filled with just enough emotion, genuine conviction; his face presented only a picture of a honest man looking for help.

“Councilors! I come to you with news of grave importance. The Collectors, a race of beings from beyond the Omega 4 Relay, have been abducting entire human colonies in the Terminus Systems. I have reasons to believe they are working for the Reapers. If you permit me there are several pieces of evidence I'd like to present at this time...”

He was abruptly interrupted by the salarian Councilor.

“The Terminus Systems are beyond our jurisdiction! Your human colonists should have thought about it before they left the Council space!”

“You missing the point, Councilor. The Reapers are involved. That has to be a priority for the Council.” Way to go Anderson! John felt relieved, but did not show any of it on his face. Anderson had his back.

“Oh yes, 'Reapers'.” the salarian Valern imitated a human quotation gesture with his fingers. “The immortal race of sentient spaceships allegedly waiting in dark space. We have dismissed that claim prior to this conversation. A fairly long time ago.”

And then it happened. Exactly like Miranda warned him the pieces started to fall again.

“Shepard,” Anderson turned towards him. “No one else but you and your crew spoke to Sovereign. Only Jane Shepard had seen the visions, only you two have spoken to the hologram on Ilos. Since she has disappeared there is no one left to collaborate your account. I have always believed both of you, but now without hard evidence from another trustworthy source, the others think Saren was behind the geth attacks.”

That was below the belt. John had hoped to have a chance to ask about Jane in private, away from prying eyes and judgmental politicians. Anderson as well as confirmed he had no clue what happened to her or where she was. It hurt. A lot. But he had to focus on the problem at hand. Logic was always his answer.

“Saren was an organic. The geth followed him because he was Sovereign's agent otherwise they would have never accepted him as their leader! Examine the remains of the Sovereign itself! Its technology is way beyond what the geth could achieve on their own! Better yet, go back to Ilos and talk to Vigil yourselves!”

“We have investigated these claims. The hologram on Ilos is non functional and truthfully there is no evidence to suggest it ever was.” the turian's mandibles flared angrily. “We have found nothing to suggest that Sovereign was a not a geth creation. The Reapers are a myth! One that you insist on perpetuating!”

“Saren was a compelling and charismatic individual. He convinced the geth the Reapers were real... just as he convinced you. The geth have undoubtedly constructed the ship under Saren's influence.”

“Shepard, this insistence on presenting to us a disproved theory only proves to show how fragile your mental status is.” salarian blinked. “Regrettably you seem to have been manipulated – by Cerberus and, before them, by Saren.”

“I can not believe this...” John uttered under his breath. Then he continued louder, a tiny bit of indignation seeping through his polite mask. “We have kept Saren from conquering the Citadel. I chose to insist on sacrificing human lives to save this Council. And right now I am asking for help. Not for myself, but the helpless colonists who's only crime was trying to find a place of their own in the universe!”

“The Council finds ourselves in a difficult position, Shepard. You are working with Cerberus – an avowed enemy of the Council and a known terrorist organization to the Alliance. We can not possibly support your cause publicly. But, perhaps, there is another solution.”

John looked at his mentor hardly believing he was the one who said it. Anderson was supposed to have his back!

“Yes, as human Councilor have said, maybe there is a compromise. Not a public acknowledgment, given the company you keep nowadays, but something to show support non the less. We will reinstate your Spectre status if you restrict your operations to the Terminus Systems and will keep a low profile in the public's eyes. It will only be a formal gesture, a show of faith in you personally, not your associates or the mission you undertake.”

John stayed silent looking in the distance. This was the same joke as the higher security. They wanted him to “play nice” and not bother them with his inconvenient truth. The reinstatement could play to his favor, but it sounded hollow – he would not get the full support of the Council however much he tried to convince them. They chose to deny the truth, to hide from it behind petty words. Well, so be it.

He stepped forward and said what they wanted to hear.

“I accept your offer. It's good to have the Council on my side.”

“Good luck with your investigation, Shepard. We hope you will wrap it up shortly... as your relationship with Cerberus.” The Councilors ended the holocall.

John let out a sigh and moved to the balcony leaning against the railing. Anderson followed taking position at his side. Shepard had a feeling without actually seeing that Miranda slid closer. She was right there barely out of sight and certainly not out of earshot.

“That went better then expected.” Anderson began.

“Well, you seem to have thought a great deal about what to do with me, back from the dead. That 'another solution', nicely done.” he could not hide the bitterness in his voice.

“John... This offer is symbolic, the others will not actually do anything. But it was the only way to keep them off your back. Them and the Alliance. As long as you keep to the Terminus Systems you can do what you have to.”

“Thanks, I almost thought you left me hanging.”

“In some ways I did. Sometimes I hate that you have rewarded me with this nightmare of a job. I take it you have a lot of questions, what do you want to know?”

John thought of asking about the obvious: the Sovereign's remains, damage to the Citadel, the geth, but after hearing what the Council had to say it all became meaningless all of a sudden. He really wanted to ask about one thing, but it was terrifying to actually do it so he asked about something else instead.

“What do you know about my old crew? What happened to them?”

Anderson leaned on the railings looking out to the parks of the Presidium.

“You mean, Major Jane Shepard's old crew?” he corrected pointedly. “Most of the crew were reassigned to different posts. Chief Adams is working on the retrofits of the SSV Orizaba. Your krogan acquaintance Wrex has been sitting on his home world for a year. Liara T'Soni has become a respected information broker. I do not know where she is located. I'm sorry, Shepard, but there is no information on your turian friend. Garrus Vakarian had rejoined the C-Sec after your presumed death and tried out for Spectre training, but he failed it and disappeared over a year ago.”

“What about First Lieutenant Alenko? I heard he's still with the Alliance.”

“Staff Lieutenant Alenko is on a special mission. It's classified. I can not tell you about his assignment. Not while you are with Cerberus.”

That had done it. All they saw was Cerberus or the uncomfortable truth about the Reapers! No one saw _him!_ John was back from the dead for fuck sake! And all they cared about were their own petty political agendas! Even Anderson.

“Alright. How about you tell me what happened to my sister, old friend?” there was something in his voice that made Anderson look at him with concern.

“I'm really sorry, John. I do not know much. The truth is no one has seen her for over two years...”

Shepard could notice out of the corner of his eye the way the operative, who was still trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, has tensed up. It was barely noticeable and he probably would not have noticed if he wasn't looking at the right time.

“From what I pieced together,“ the Councilor continued, “she signed up for more Black Ops work after the original Normandy was destroyed...”

**. . .**

As soon as the door closed behind them Shepard rounded on his XO.

“You do know something about my sister. Start talking, _now!_ ”

“Why would you...”

“You shifted when Anderson said no one has seen her for over two years. Do not try my patience with this subject!” John interrupted angrily. He started to think Miranda could be deserving of trust, yet she apparently was hiding something about Jane!

Brunette faced his furious gaze head on. She kept her features emotionless, but deep below the ice of her blue eyes there was sadness.

“Shepard, I'm sorry, but I don't know where she is or what happened to her exactly. We were involved in an operation two years ago before I started on the Lazarus Project.”

“What were you doing? Why don't you know where she is? Did Jane join Cerberus? Why would she?”

The questions followed in rapid succession.

“It is not my place to say and not my secret to keep. If you want to know more about what happened, we will have to go to Illium.”

“Fine!” he snapped. “Let's go there then! Right now. But I better get some real answers!”

“Shepard, we can't!” Seeing his angry expression she added fearlessly: “Not right away. We have wasted enough time getting to the Citadel as it is. We _need_ the scientist. You've got to understand the gravity of the situation. Without protection against Collector stasis toxins we don't stand a chance of surviving a single encounter with them! The other assignment on Omega is time-sensitive as well. We have to think of the mission first.”

John growled and landed his fist into the nearest wall. He sighed and his shoulders lowered in resignation.

“You are right. Again. We'll have to get things done on Omega, getting the colonists has to take priority.”

Shepard turned to look at the operative, their faces returned to normal, or rather his did since a cold mask of professionalism never left hers.

“I owe you an apology, Ms. Lawson. I did not believe you had my best interests in mind. I also will have to reevaluate my stance on Cerberus. You have to excuse me, my world view is somewhat dated. By about two years.”

He attempted a smile and could swear some of that detached coldness had left the Cerberus agent, too.

“Very well, Commander, I accept your apology. I hope we can learn to work together.”

She turned on her heels – wave of raven hair in the air and started towards the exit, but the call from Shepard stopped her.

“Miranda, wait!”

John caught up with her feeling uneasy about broaching the subject, but he had to make sure his guess was correct.

“The person you promised to take care of me. The person you said you owed your life to... Was it my sister?”

Tall brunette threw a quick glance at him over her shoulder. Shepard nodded. Both of them knew this had to be the last question on the matter. At the very least until Illium.

Miranda stood there for a while, not saying anything, not looking at the man. Then she said one word in a quiet, emotionless, almost monotone voice.

“ _Yes.”_

The next second she was gone leaving Commander to inhale heavily. Turns out he was holding his breath all the while.

 

 


	3. Liara: The Meeting, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Liara and Jane story line begins! Just one thing about what the ginger Shepard is saying in this chapter: Not all of it is justified. Remember that she's grieving, the woman is quite a bit unhinged by her loss so she puts blame on anything and anyone she can. It's not all logical, not all fair, but it's very human. Jane is in a very dark place right now and it will be hard for her to get out into the light again. 
> 
> Regarding the characters that haven't made an appearance yet: Most of ME characters will be featured in one way or the other, certainly all the prominent ones. Some will appear as main supporting cast, some will be mentioned. It would ruin the mystery if I addressed any of them at this point. Figuring out just how different this universe is from the original one, what drastic or very subtle changes had occurred is part of the fun. At least I think so.

This tucked away office in the docking district had proven to be very handy. Just like the operative said it would. Half-abandoned building had a distinctly shady vibe to it. Patchy electrical work, rust on metal walls, mountains of boxes and broken equipment spread throughout the large main hall only separated by non functional conveyor lines for loading and unloading of imaginary goods. There was a dime a dozen buildings like this in Gozu district. Bankrupt offices, abandoned fronts for Blue Suns or Eclipse, unlucky storage vaults turned into battlefields by one lazy wave of Aria's hand. It was Omega, no one batted an eyelash at the state of things. 

Hidden behind all the chaos of the main hall was a unremarkable room build into the corner of the structure. A steel box was propped on a complicated support structure of metal bars that were connected together with a series of beams. Somewhere within that web were left rusting several malfunctioned industrial mechs. The box itself, that some time ago would have been used by the manager for administrative purposes, presented a sorry picture. It was covered with rust and dents, the windows were not symmetrical and covered with thick layers of dust and oil making it impossible to oversee the immense hall from the inside. But so was spying on what was happening inside. 

Liara sited herself on a swinging chair in front of several monitors witch diligently displayed the feeds from multiple security cameras hidden about the facility. This time she managed to stay still for more then a second. Then again, two seconds became too much for her: the asari jumped up to her feet and started pacing across the small room from one wall to the other. Finding Jane on Omega was an incredible and totally unforeseen coincidence. The Doctor had to stifle her excitement as the redhead did not agreed to help her yet and by the way their conversation gone she surmised that it will not be easy to convince the Major. _Former_ Major, Liara corrected herself. This tidbit of information may have been playing in her favor. 

It wasn't easy to find Jane Shepard. Alliance service records Liara could access were not updated as attentively as she would have wished. The last details on Jane were dated several months ago, barely a week after the Normandy had been destroyed. Major Shepard was reassigned to Black Ops, given command of several covert units and everything after that was classified at the top level. 

The official thread stopped there, but Liara was not about to give up. If Jane did not contacted her, then maybe some of the other former squad-mates had heard something? Doctor could not believe her luck when her very first choice – Garrus Vakarian, currently back at C-Sec preparing for his Spectre training – had all the information she needed! Jane had contacted him a couple weeks ago to catch up on what had been going on with the rest of the crew. As a Black Ops operative she was cut off from the usual communication sources most of the time during missions. 

Vakarian mirrored Liara's own opinions when he told Jane about all that had been happening in regards to John. How the Council was starting to suppress all information regarding the Reapers, how Alliance did not even revealed to the public that the first human Spectre was indeed dead. All the things that showed the ugly underbelly of the galaxy John not wanted to believe in so much. 

Liara could somewhat understand the rash reaction the redhead came to. Quitting, telling the Alliance to go to hell, leaving the Council space. The digital paper trail Liara followed unbelievably lead her back to Omega where she started her search in the first place. Jane had been hold up in a shady motel rarely getting out of her room. 

However, that whole ordeal seemed like child's play compared to seemingly insurmountable task of convincing her to take on Liara's mission. Aside from the dangerous and untrustworthy allies they will have to work with, there was the little problem of completely insane goal of this whole enterprise. Yeah, the asari could not simply came out and say, “Hey, Jane, I have not seen you for a while, but how about we go on a trip to bring your dead brother back to life?” 

Liara shook her head. She hardly believed herself that those people managed to convince her that such a thing was possible. All she wanted before the mess on the ice planet was to find John's body. Liara owed the man that much. To make sure all the proper mourning rituals were preformed. He saved her and countless others, touched so many lives. John deserved a proper send off and everyone else deserved to say goodbye and maybe even get some closure. Jane most of all. 

The scientist stopped to look with unseeing eyes at one of the muddy windows. She thought back to the way this crazy quest had started. After confirming that neither Alliance nor the Council would send a retrieval expedition to the Normandy crash site, she had to do something. 

So she hired a freighter, a team of guides and harsh environment experts, plus some mercenaries for security just in case. It took them two weeks to reach Alchera as stealthy as a simple ship not equipped with heat emissions blocking systems like the Normandy could manage. They had to evade the salvers and weapon traders, not to mention all the Blue Suns traffic in the area. 

The icy planet greeted them with the same attitude as the last time – uncaring and unapologetic at the tragedy that had occurred in the orbit high above it. Calculating the coordinates of the last battle the Normandy had lost had been an easy task thanks to the data from the on-board computers the Doctor kept on her Omni-tool. 

They landed right in the middle of the crash site. The location was not that hard to find from orbit. The Normandy had been split in several main chunks that still reminded of the proud ship. The whole field was littered with the smaller pieces. The first thing Liara saw upon exiting the shuttle was the upturned and split down the middle Mako. She smiled a sad smile. At least there there was no more danger of being trapped in the belly of that beast anymore. It would have been funny that neither of the twins could drive worth a damn, if only this vehicle did not existed. 

She ordered her expedition to spread out and look for any traces of a body, any body. There were several of the crew presumed mission in action, but Liara knew better. If they could find their bodies as well, then maybe some poor human parents can bury their children, too. They have been searching for no longer then six hours when it happened. 

The air was filled with roaring of engines coming from several unmarked shuttles that were descending upon their camp in the middle of the crash site. The only significant detail about them were black and gray colors with red accents. The shuttles started landing between the bigger pieces of the broken up ship effectively blocking off any escape route. The doors opened releasing groups of heavily armored soldiers. 

They all wore black-gray unmarked armors and closed off helmets with red stripes. The groups immediately fell into straight rows and readied their automatic weapons. The speed and efficiency of their actions screamed of military precision and discipline. But which military? Who would be conducting operations in this forgotten corner of Terminus? 

The last pair to step off the shuttle encapsulated intimidation. In the front stood up the tallest salarian Liara ever saw, not that she saw many salarians, but this one looked overly muscled, trained; he wore batarian styled heavy armor and holding a monstrous looking mini-gun. He was only a head and a half shorter then his companion witch followed the salarian like a shadow. Enormous krogan wearing heavy warlord armor and playing with his as giant of a battle hammer as the krogan was himself.

 

The salarian scanned the small group of people gathering in the middle of the blocked off area. He frowned at the sight of the mercenaries that Liara hired picking up their weapons. He gestured to his men and bend down wounding up his mini-gun. The krogan next to him reached to the segmented belt he was wearing that inspired unpleasant associations with an overgrown centipede. He grabbed one of the cylindrical segments and detached it from the belt. The armored fingers pressed a button, release mechanism of some sort, the device in his hand began to blink and beep. The krogan swung his arm in a wide circular motion and send the cylinder flying towards the Mako. 

It ricocheted off the broken vehicle with a metallic clunk, flew over the crowd of the searching party and exploded in mid-air showering them all with burning incendiary powder. The researchers and guides screamed running around in panic, the guards rushed for cover, the krogan roared with laughter brandishing his powered up hammer. 

“Open fire!” barked the salarian unleashing a hellstorm of armor piercing bullets with his mini-gun. 

The rows of unknown soldiers started to advance through the makeshift camp gunning down any moving target they could find. Liara hid behind one of the smaller chunks of the Normandy trying to fire from cover with her SMG. But the unrelenting stream of gunfire from all directions made it almost impossible to get out of cover for a moment longer to see anything to shoot at. The asari could hear the methodical steps of the men, their shots getting closer. She could hear the screams of the people she brought to this planet. 

“ _Don't think of them right now! One wrong move and you will stay on this icy rock forever, T'Soni! Remember your training!”_  

Doctor sprinted over to the larger piece of wreckage, the chaotic amalgamation of outer hull panels and melted together parts from all over the ship. It presented a good spot for cover as it was in a ditch at the foot of the largest piece of the Normandy that remained intact surrounding her chosen spot with several inches of best turian plating. She threw a warp in the direction of the gunfire on the run not bothering to confirm if she hit anything. 

An explosion of another incendiary grenade send Liara flying over the piece of outer hull. She rolled downhill on the other side of it falling down the crack between the Normandy and the icy ground below. The frozen slide took her to the underbelly of the ship, swinging and wounding among the bend out of shape support beams. Liara came to a halt abruptly crashing into a metal wall. 

She got off mostly unscaled thanks to the immediately put up barrier, but the explosion had blown it out and for the moment her only protection was the light armor she was wearing. It won't fare well under fire from armor piercing rounds from that mini-gun the salarian was tirelessly wounding up. Still disoriented from the blast and the tumble down the icy slide Liara tried to shake off the ringing in her head and crawled very slowly and carefully through the labyrinth consisting of frozen chunks of the Normandy outer hull. The remains of the ship above her screeched and creaked making it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. 

“Doc! T'Soni!” 

The whisper came from the right. She shifted her weight around lightening her fingers on the SMG, but the figure laying flat in the snow below the sharp edges of jagged metal was familiar. Feron, one of the retrieval specialists she hired for this expedition. The drell shivered even in his formfitting green armor. Amphibian race he belonged to did not fare well in cold conditions. He gestured for her to follow, turned to his right. Feron crawled through the hole leading them away from the battle. He was moving surprisingly well in such a confined space. 

Liara had no other choice but to follow. She could not take on whoever these people were on her own. Asari closed her eyes for a moment trying to push the screams and gunfire out of her mind. Liara lowered her body to lay flat on her stomach and crawled through the hole in the metal wall being careful not to cut herself on the sharp edges. It was like being willingly swallowed by some ancient enormous beast. She shivered not only from the coldness of the wind. 

The narrow passageways led them further and further away from the fight. Liara thought how even after being blown to pieces and buried among the snow the Normandy was still protecting her. The silly thought had a reassuring effect on the scientist. The Normandy was the closest place she had to a home. All the dig sites she spend so much time in had never made her feel at home. The life of a secluded archeologist was simple, uncomplicated by people and intricacy’s of social interactions. All she had to deal with were artifacts and old, forgotten records. 

But then one day those two had to drag her out of that damned prothean dig and into the light. Liara had gotten used to the subtle hum of the engines, the smells of the medbay, that pull below the naval when the ship accelerated through the Mass Relay. But most of all, she gotten used to be surrounded by people. Liara found out how rewarding it is to make friends, build social connections with actual people instead of old recollections of the dead. The asari would have never guessed a military ship would become her home. 

Liara shook her head. This was not the time to travel down the memory lane. The sound of gunfire had already become quieter, much further away. She wondered how the drell could be choosing the right direction: all the walls in this labyrinth, all the pyjak holes be they right or left seemed exactly the same to her. The greenish armor in front of her disappeared behind another wall, Liara made to follow and felt a bit better finally being able to stand. For some unknown to her reason Feron had plastered himself on the metal surface of the hull trailing upwards to dazzling height. She mirrored his movements hoping the drell knew what he was doing. 

Slowly they made their was to the other side of the broken off chunk of the ship. The sounds of the firefight had completely died down. The asari was afraid to guess if it was because of the amount of snow, ice and broken ship parts or because the mercenaries in unmarked armor had already killed all other members of her expedition and were hunting them down. Feron hoped over a long steel rail sticking out of the frozen ground and started climbing up another piece of the ship wreck. 

Several minutes of climbing were filled with dangerous silence only interrupted by their own muffled huffing and the swishing of the wind. Sometime on her way to the top Liara felt her barrier being restored to full strength. And just in time! She was beginning to feel frostbite creeping up her face. Asari rarely wore helmets, their biotic barriers served far better protection against bullets and elements. 

Still, the doctor thought it took forever to reach a small unobstructed by hardened snow platform. Once she stood next to Feron looking on the landscape that opened up before them, she could not suppress a helpless moan. The frozen whiteness stretched out to the horizon in every direction the eye could see. Mountains of hardened snow and endless waves of white dunes were only separated by frozen over lakes and what seemed like bottomless canyons. 

One such pit was right in front of them. The piece of the ship they were standing on was perched at the very edge of the cliff. The enormous plain where what was left of the Normandy was spread in uneven pieces was cut off at this point as if by a giant hand holding an even more monumental sword. As they looked down into the abyss both got the unmistakable feeling of a snarling mouth. The endless pit snarled at them showing its sharp icy teeth. Somewhere far, far away down the throat of the terrifying beast swirled white fog concealing what could be awaiting a person that might have the misfortune of falling in. 

There was none, could not possibly be any escape route anywhere. 

“We can’t go down there.” she said just to say something seeking reassurance in the sound of her own voice. 

“No, we can't.” the drell echoed her sentiment. “Our only hope is to hide and try to wait them out.“ 

Feron paused observing the terrain, nodded to himself and started to the left apparently seeing something that satisfied his search. Or maybe the drell was grasping at straws as the humans say. Liara couldn't tell either way. 

“Come on, Doctor!” he called after her. 

What happened next played out in slow motion searing the images into her mind. First she heard a tiny squeaking noise similar to one space hamsters make. It quickly rose to high pitched screeching. Then she saw the masses snow that were swept up on top of the wreckage beginning to move: trails of white were flowing indifferent directions, chunks of pressed snow were falling off. The high pitched noise stopped abruptly. There was another sound of piping cork and the ice mountain behind them exploded in millions of small pieces raining all over the place. Liara felt the surface she was standing upon shaking, contorting... and then it was gone! The hill was collapsing on itself surrounding them in cacophony of breaking, screeching frozen metal and plastic. 

Liara fell and slid down the shaking slope spinning uncontrollably. The snarling icy mouth was greeting her with a hungry grown of the collapse. This was the end. But just as this panicky thought entered her mind her body flipped around and she landed hard on a small edge. The fall kicked all the air out of the Doctor. She could not even cry out in pain. Liara tried to get up from laying flat on her back ignoring the sharp pain surging up her spine, but that proven to be a challenge. The tiny ledge was covered generously with ice, thin layers intermingled with big, cracking under her weight, chunks. Liara almost slid off to her doom several times before she managed to find her balance. 

“Doc!” 

The muffled call came from below the ledge. The asari moved gingerly on her hands and knees to the edge. The gaping chasm in all of its terrifying glory made her dizzy. But the sight of the drell hanging on directly below her had made her forget all about the hungrily awaiting death. Now she knew exactly were they were. Or what part of the ship they were clinging to. This was an upper section of the Normandy outer hull. The ledge that saved her life usually would be covering the escape pod below. There was no escape pod now through: all shuttles were discharged during the attack. Protective plate remained in the same position it was left. 

Feron was holding on to the edge of the empty launch shaft. The asari planted herself on the plate trying to find some way to hold on with her legs. She finally wiggled her feet behind one of the ice formations. Hoping it will suffice Liara lowered her upper body over the ledge. Surprisingly it was enough to reach the hand Feron had extended up. Their palms locked on each others forearms. 

“Feron, you'll have to climb up on your own! I can not pull you up!” Liara shouted praying he could do it. 

The drell nodded and fixed his other hand more firmly on the half-broken off piece of railing. He then pulled one of his legs up putting it on the edge of the opening. He proceeded to do the same with his other leg obviously intending on standing up. Balancing his trained frame against the opening was a good enough idea, but what happened was the opposite. His foot slipped on the ice throwing his whole body out of balance. The next moment the drell was hanging above the endless pit, his only support being Liara's hand. Suddenly being weighted down by a whole another body Liara slid a few inches further down the edge. Feron tried to swing back towards the escape shaft, but his every movement only made Liara slid more, the ice underneath her armor was cracking. Finally the drell looked with with acceptance written across his amphibian face. 

“Just let go.” he said calmly. “There is no reason for both of us to die in this frozen hellhole.” 

“No!” exclaimed Liara trying desperately to pull him up. 

She will not let another person die because of her mission! These people followed her here, and what did they get in return? If she can only save one person out of all the members of her expedition! Her desperate attempts had only worsened the situation. The asari could feel the strain in her already bruised back muscles, the sharp pain in her shoulder and ankles. I was inevitable: sooner or later her body would simply not be able to hold onto Feron's arm anymore. She will either let him go or follow the drell into the jaws of the ice beast patiently awaiting for the meal below. 

Tears swelled at her eyes. Pain and desperation fought for control on her strained, going ever deeper shade of purple from the rush of blood face. 

Several black ropes fell untangling past them on the left. Those are the unknown mercenaries, here to finish the job, thought Liara in despair. Then she registered the look of extreme surprise on Feron's face. Maybe that were not the black armored soldiers after all. Why would they use ropes anyway? They had no qualms about using bullets as a greeting before. Whoever that was, Liara herself was in no position to look up or to try to locate her discarded during the fall SMG. She was not going to give up on Feron until the very last moment. 

Two figures clad in white-gold armors descended the wreckage. One proceeded lower swinging towards thew drell. Liara felt the other one step on the ledge next to her. Two strong hands grasped at her shoulders giving the asari a measure of much needed support. The voice she heard next to her crest was that of a woman. She had one of those odd Earth accents Liara found fascinating. 

“Doctor T'Soni, there is no need to panic, we are here to help. My partner will help to secure your friend and we will be able to get out of here.” 

Liara could not even nod her understanding, all of her strength was spend keeping Feron from falling. The man in white armor wrapped a harness around the drell's shoulders pulling harshly at the locks to make sure they will hold. Then his reflective helmet angled up and he gave a thumbs up to the woman. 

“Doctor, you can let go now.” seeing as Liara could not release her iron grip on Feron's forearm, the woman slid down and relaxed her fingers gently. “It is alright. He will not fall.” 

Finally Liara managed to release her hold and both men swung freely on the rope. As soon as they could grab onto the ship's surface they started climbing up helping each other along. Liara rolled off the edge and onto her back feeling relieved, but also exhausted. The woman busied herself with fixing the harness on Liara, giving her medi-gel and some kind of stimulant that invigorated the Doctor in minutes – all without asking the asari for permission. Once that all was done she pulled Liara up to her legs forcefully. 

“I know you are tired and hurt, Doctor, but we have to move now. The medi-gel and stimulants will have to suffice for the moment.” 

“Who... Who are you?” asked the scientist. 

Suspicion rose like an icky disease inside of her. Liara was not used to evaluating people for trust, it seemed barbaric to the Doctor, but she saw enough of the galaxy to lower her expectations of the goodness in the hearts of the larger portion of its populace. Although, seeing how she had no other choice, the asari stepped forward to start their climb regardless. 

“Let's get out of danger first and I will explain. It would be ill-advised to start long conversations on a side of a crumbling wreckage of a ship.” 

Liara could see her point. They started the climb in silence catching up to the two figures already half-way to the top. 

 **. . .**  

The dirty-white and gold Kodiak shuttle was hidden about fifty meters away from the crash site. Another man in black-gold armor was waiting for them there. Everyone had entered the shuttle with the new man closing the door behind them. 

Suddenly Liara felt trapped. These people saved her life, but she still had no idea who they were or what they wanted. As if in answer to her panicky thoughts the latest addition to their party produced a pistol pointing in the direction where Liara and Feron stood. 

“Do not make any sudden movements,” he said in a flat, monotone voice that still carried a sharp threat. 

Doctor tensed up wishing she had the foresight to pick up her SMG after the “rescue”, genuine intent of witch seemed dubious right about now. No matter, her best weapon were always her biotics. Training aboard the Normandy with Jane had molded the previously shy asari into a very capable fighter. Her preparations for a fight were interrupted by the woman. 

“Doctor T'Soni, please move behind me.” 

Only now the asari realized that the pistol was pointing at the center of Feron's chest, not at her! Reluctantly she complied, but exclaimed right away hoping against reason this could be resolved peacefully: 

“What is happening? Why have you saved our lives if you wanted to kill us later?” 

“You are in no danger, Doctor.” answered the woman not taking her eyes off the drell. Apparently she was the one in charge. “In any case not from us. You lack several key pieces of information. The expedition you have brought here was attacked by the Shadow Broker's Retrieval Team. The Broker is after the same thing you are – Shepard's body, but for different reasons. However, he did not have exact location of the attack on the Normandy to extrapolate the crash site. Not until very recently. Can you venture a guess as to how his elite enforcing team had found you?” 

“The same way you people did?” suggested Liara frowning her brow ironically. She was no longer that shy, babbling asari scientist that got trapped in the same prothean device she was supposed to be studying. Liara had survived a lot, learned what life was outside of remote digs. 

“Not exactly.” continued the woman unperturbed by the quip. “But we will discuss our side later, there is one more pressing issue to deal with first. Him.” she pointed at the drell. “How about you save us the time and start talking? T'Soni almost gave her life trying to save yours, the least you can do is tell her the truth.” 

The drell shrugged. 

“Judging by the fact that I'm still alive, I'll take it you want something from me. Well, so be it.” he turned his head towards Liara. “Doctor, I am – or was, depending on the point of view – an agent of the Shadow Broker. He gave me the task of spying on you. The Broker wants Commander Shepard's body. For what purpose, I don't know. I have transmitted your calculations on the Normandy's last location sixteen hours before we reached Alchera. I will not apologize for doing my job, more so since I was not aware of the Brokers intentions concerning the rest of the expedition. I do want to thank you for saving my life.” 

He turned back to the woman surveying her posture with wrapped attention as he could not see her face through the tinted vizor of the helmet. 

“I assume you want to either interrogate or recruit me. Otherwise I would already be dead. Both options are negotiable at this point. I do not hold on to any uncompromising loyalty to the Shadow Broker. Tazzik, the salarian with the mini-gun,” he added glancing at Liara, “opened fire straight up, although he saw me being in his line of fire. The intent was obvious. There is no point in being loyal to an employer who wants to kill you.” 

The woman stayed silent for a while contemplating what to do. After coming to some kind of decision, she addressed the drell. 

“It is not my place to make a call on the matter. I will have to inform someone who has the authority to make it.” 

“You mean the Illusive Man,” said the drell matter-of-factly. 

“Those are _some_ deduction skills, drell!” commented one of the men. 

“Not really. Firstly, you had to have the resources to track us down and get here undetected. Secondly, you are all human. Cerberus becomes the obvious choice. And, thirdly, you just confirmed it.” Feron shrugged again. “It was a well informed, educated guess, nothing more.” 

The woman stepped up to his taking something out of her pocket. 

“Regardless of your deduction skills or lack there of, we can not allow you to interfere or to be in a position to access any information from this point on.” 

“Drugs?” he asked raising a brow. There was a flicker of understanding in his amphibian eyes. 

She pulled out a portable injector and had an impression of looking him straight in the eyes from the other side of the tinted vizor. 

“Hyctechlorostephan. 36 hours of dreamless sleep. No side effects for any of the Council species. Very humane outcome considering the situation, don’t you think?” 

The drell did not answer turning his head to give her access to his neck instead. The operative moved with incredible speed. Liara only had the time to blink once and Feron was already slumped in a chair while the woman was packing the injector back in her pocket. She addressed Liara. 

“It is regrettable you had to witness such a scene, Doctor. It was unavoidable. However, now we can answer any questions you have.” 

All three started to remove their helmets. Liara watched with reserved interest on the people she was not sure were allies or enemies. 

The man in black-gold armor had light skin with yellowish sheen and straight black hair. His brown eyes were shaped differently then Liara saw on humans before. They were longer, more oval as if the owner was squinting a bit all the time. The other man in white-gold armor had dark skin like the Normandy's former CO David Anderson. His eyes were darker and he had a buzz-cut and a stubble just like John indicating a military man. 

The last one to reveal her face was the woman. As soon as the helmet left her head spectacular waterfall of silky black hair rained on her shoulders. She has icy blue eyes ready to match in their cold splendor the frozen lakes outside, high well-sculpted cheekbones that found the precisely right place on an oval shaped face. It was oddly harmonic in it's symmetry, a trait not many natural faces, not touched by surgical equipment, shared. Her skin glowed with that special inner light of a living specimen at the top of its form and impeccable health. 

It was most likely the most beautiful human she had ever met, thought Liara to herself. It was taking all of her concentration to keep her features relaxed. Asari hoped she had made the impression of polite interest instead of the jumbled bag of mixed emotions that was jumping up and down inside of her. 

“I am Miranda Lawson.” introduced herself the brunette in her strange accent first, then she nodded to the other one: “This is Jacob Taylor and the man that went into the forward section is Kai Leng. Since our drell companion has already correctly deduced our affiliation I will simply confirm his guess. Yes, we are with Cerberus.” 

“The human-centric terrorist group? Why would you help _me_ of all people? Why do you want John's body? I was with the Major and Commander Shepard. I remember the missions involving Cerberus. We have seen your experiments. Is that the reason you want something form me?” 

The two agents exchanged blank, unreadable looks. 

“Doctor T'Soni,” started Operative Lawson again. It was clearly evident that she was carefully choosing her words. “I can not deny that some of Cerberus negative reputation is well earned. However, right now we are the best and, frankly, the only hope you have of getting John Shepard back. All that we ask is that you come with us and hear out the man in charge.” 

“What if I don't want to go with you? Or is it a single option proposition.” 

“First of all, you can not stay here. The Shadow Broker men will have this system under control in a few hours. Your freighter had already been boarded. No ship will be able to leave this quadrant without the Broker knowing about it. If you stay on the planet you'll have two choices: either get captured or freeze to death.” Seeing an alarmed expression flooding to the surface despite Liara's best efforts, Miranda continued more openly. “We won't hold you against your will. As soon as we get to our destination and hand over Feron to Cerberus interrogators you are free to leave. But I strongly recommend that you speak with the Illusive Man before you make your final decision, Doctor.” 

Liara looked them up and down visually appearing deep in thought. Were it not for the time spend on the Normandy, her training with Jane, all that they have been through together, the asari would have been scared, distraught and at a loss about what to do. But all of it happened leaving it's trace on her, shaping her character, her will. Liara had reinforced her resolve to go through with what she set out to do. No matter what. 

“What about Shepard’s body?” asked she after a prolonged silence. “We haven't had much time to search for it...” 

“It wouldn't have mattered.” The black man – Taylor, was it? – had addressed her for the first time. “I'm sorry you have lost so many members of your expedition, Doctor. It will sound harsh, but your search and their deaths have been irrelevant. The Shadow Broker people had picked up Shepard's body about 20 miles from here over five hours ago.” 

“We intend to get it back.” interjected Miranda. 

“Why?” 

“That you will have to ask the Illusive Man.” 

“Very well then. Where are we going?” 

Liara had to ask the question mid motion. The shuttle had started up and was already rising off the frozen surface. She hurried to seat down and strap up in the usual harness. Liara knew how much turbulence such a small ship could get during an atmospheric exit. Miranda was busy securing herself and the drell prisoner next to her so the asari got the answer form Operative Taylor. 

“According to our inside sources, the Broker's men will need additional equipment to preserve the body and very specific transporting conditions as well. We are going to Omega. The station is the hottest transit port in the Terminus. One way or the other, we will either catch up to them there or get a tip on the location of their transport vessel. See, Doctor, we will not hide anything important form you.” 

Liara did not answer. The turbulence started in serious and she had chosen to table all the questions until later. Whether or not the Illusive Man can convince her of his good intentions, Liara knew she did not really have a choice if she wanted to get to the bottom of this. She sighed and closed her eyes hoping that the ride would go by quickly. 

Her second visit to the icy planet had demanded a price in blood. Again. As an archeologist she knew that the old civilizations often held beliefs in evil gods and demons inhabiting certain physical locations. The asari could never quite understand such superstition, the beliefs of her own people always leaned towards metaphysical, ephemeral entities. 

That is until now. Alchera made her understand. Such an unfeeling, unforgiving place. Almost like it had a mind of its own. A cruel, malevolent mind. 

The asari that opened her eyes was looking at the dusty window. Reminiscing of that frozen planet made her feel cold even in the dry, ever recycled air of Omega. Liara shivered and wrapped her arms around the shoulders looking unsure all of a sudden. She kept pushing all her insecurities, all the loss and morning, her guilt and hurt away into the furthest corner of her mind. As long as the Doctor kept busy she did not have time to dwell upon the truly dark thoughts so unfamiliar to her. However, she did not get an opportunity to allow depression to set in. 

The monitors released a quiet melodic sound. Perimeter alarm. Liara sprung into action. She moved back to her equipment to check the cameras. Outside the main entrance to the facility stood a figure obscured by shadows and poor camera angle. Liara haven't seen the woman in months, but it would be impossible not to recognize her. Even dressed in average civil clothing Jane had a certain aura about her. 

Asari unlocked the door remotely and send a line of simple directions to Shepard's Omni-tool. The Doctor did not move away from her monitors tracking her guest through the surveillance instead. When Jane was on her way to the abandoned looking office Liara stood up, ran her hands over her simple white-blue light armor that served as a lab coat at the same time. It was unobtrusive and comfortable to wear, but most importantly it did not look completely out of place on Omega. The asari exhaled slowly trying to calm her nerves. She had maybe one chance to convince Jane to help and she was not about to waste it. 

Liara listened to the firm steps up the ladder and stepped forward herself when the door swung open. Jane entered the room, had a quick look around letting the door close on its own. There was a small smile that appeared on her in reaction to the bouncing on her toes asari figure in front of her. Liara was fiddling with her tightly clasped hands. It vividly reminded both of them of the first few weeks the Doctor spend on the Normandy. 

“Hey, Blue, long time no see,” greeted her Jane taking off the hood of her black battered hoody. “Love what you've done with the place.” 

Bright scarlet locks spread about her shoulders looking as messed up as always. Liara noticed how the ends of her hair hanged a few inches below the shoulders. Jane obviously stopped following the military regulations. The scientist took in her friend as a whole. Black civilian clothes and army boots were a bit out of character, but, truth be told, Liara rarely ever saw Jane out of uniform so that change hardly could tell her much. More worrying was the former Major's posture – relaxed, only kept straight by the persistent habit earned through the years of training. 

Jane's face used to split in broad smiles and shine with unsuppressed laughter. Her freckles used to remind of little burning sparks complementing the blazing hair. Used to. Now she was somber, overtaken by exhaustion and deeply seeded grief. The tiny smile Jane gave Liara as a greeting was no more then a pale imitation of the redhead's previously spry, brimming with energy self. Her fire had dimmed, hiding away, but hopefully not yet completely extinguished. 

The asari was reflectively reminded of some ancient legends that postulated that twins shared one life. If one of them were to be injured or died so would the other. It seemed like the death of her brother had drained all the joy and the will to live out of Jane. Former Major was by no means broken, not completely swallowed by the tragedy, but something was definitely off about her. 

“Ahm... It’s good to see you, Jane.” said Liara making a tentative step towards her. 

Next moment the asari was pulled in a tight hug. The redhead swept her off her feet and spun them around. Jane sniggered into the blue neck at the audibly surprised gasps Liara let out. Shepard let her go and proceeded to walk around the room looking at things. The asari felt her cheeks going a deep shade of purple. 

“Blue, you really need to get more used to socializing with people.” Jane chuckled, some of the glow returned to her face. “How about we find you some friends, maybe a boyfriend... or a girlfriend, here on Omega?” 

Liara spluttered at the suggestion. She cleared her throat staring wide-eyed at the sniggering human. 

“N-no, Shepard. I think I can survive without a bunch of mercenaries and weapon smugglers in my life. And I don’t need a boyfriend, thank you very much.” 

“Girlfriend it is.” nodded the redhead with an overly serious tone. “It’s not so bad here. Not everyone is a piece of scum, although there are a lot of that, too. But there are people living here, just people. At the very least, they do mix a damn good blasteria about these parts.” 

Slowly the shadow moved back across her face. Jane moved across the room and perched herself on the wide window border. She was back to her somber expression like the display of affection had tired her out. 

“I don't suppose you have something to drink in here, huh, Blue?” 

“No, I'm afraid not.” Liara took a seat on her swivel chair. “That might have been a good idea. How are you doing, Jane?” 

“Fine, whatever. I'm getting along swimmingly.” 

“Jane...” The asari looked at her with genuine concern. “I would never have guessed I'd find you on Omega. What are you doing here?” 

The redhead raised her head preparing a defiant retort about how Liara should mind her own business, but her emerald eyes were met with no judgment or disapproval; she could only see concern and worry on her behalf. Liara smiled reassuringly offering to hear her out like she had done many times before. 

Jane sighed and slumped down shifting her weight on her elbows parked on her knees. All the defiance left her as swiftly as it had appeared. She lowered her head and buried the palms of her hands in the scarlet hair. 

“I... I don't know, Blue.” The redhead stared at the rusty, dirty floor with unseeing eyes. “I thought I could just barrel through this shit, you know? Threw myself back into work. Could not stand to be alone with my thoughts. Anything to get away from... It was nice, actually. Getting back together with some of my old unit, running simple, straight forward missions outside of Council jurisdiction, not bogged down by Alliance regs. Well,” she smiled sadly, “simple in comparison. After the shit we did running circles after Saren the usual Black Ops seemed like a walk in the park. No nightmarish outer space monsters, just the usual monsters. No brain-frying prothean Beacons. Just a goal and a lot of hard work.” 

“Have you had any more visions?” interjected Liara. 

Jane let her hands fall between her knees and shook her head. Liara knew better then to press the subject. If Shepard had a problem with the prothean data locked in her mind, she would have told her. Instead the asari tried asking about something else. Anything to pry Jane open, to shake her out of this downer, almost apathetic mood. 

“So why did you quit then? If it was going so well. I only managed to track you down through the digital trail. You withdrew all of your and John's savings. For a former undercover operative your transactions were surprisingly easy to trace.” 

Jane got up abruptly. She turned to face the wall and put her hands on it. The pose screamed of desperation, something that Jane was trying to hide. 

“That’s because I wasn't hiding, dum-dum. What would be the point?” 

“But why Omega, Jane? Why not go back to Earth or your home planet?” 

“Omega felt like a natural fit, is all. It's in the Terminus. No one gives a shit what you do here as long as you've got the credits. And, by the way,” she glanced back at Liara with a dark ironic smirk. “I was not kidding about the blasteria.” 

“Jane!” exclaimed Liara slightly scandalized by the her attitude. Did Jane really not care about anything anymore aside form wallowing in her fuming mood and drowning her grief in intoxicants? 

“WHAT?!” Finally exploded the redhead rounding up on Liara. “Was I supposed to play the good soldier? Fight on for this galaxy that doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck? Retire to Santa Monica and enjoy some of those cute cocktails with a tiny umbrella? Have you seen what they have done, huh?!” 

Seeing a puzzled expression on the asari's face Jane put her arms in the air and growled in helpless rage. She started to pace slicing the air with vicious movements of her arms. Her usually unimposing body was boiling with pent up anger and resentment. 

“The bastards kept his vids in circulation! The first human Spectre, Hero of The Citadel! Of course, they just could not pass up on such a spectacular enlisting incentive! The Normandy's last mission is classified and still appears to be active! Sounds so much fucking better then 'we don't know who blew up our best stealth ship and killed Commander Shepard', doesn't it?! I can not believe I gave most of my life to the Alliance only to be rewarded with fucking goddamned THIS kind of shit!” 

“Jane, calm down! I'm sure people in charge had good reasons to keep the attack a secret.” 

“No!” The freckled face contorted in a nasty snarl. “I know how the Admiralty operates! They denied my requests for a covert retrieval operation seven times! _Seven motherfucking times!_ The fuckers would not even allow me to bury him! How could I follow their orders after that?!” 

“Jane...” whispered the asari. She knew something was wrong, but did not expect such an outburst. 

The human woman was unexpectedly still opposite the dirty window. She looked dangerously concentrated like a predator about to strike. 

“Have you been to the Citadel since Alchera, Blue?” asked the former Major in a low, seething voice. 

“Um... No. I was... busy. Garrus told me you stopped by. One of the reasons I managed to find you.” 

“Did he now...” slowly drawled Jane full of venom. “The moron ran back to the Council at the first opportunity! Wants to be a Spectre, the damned fool. All that talk about turian honor and duty... What a bunch of steaming crap! Wasn’t he supposed to be John's...” she stumbled at the name inhaling deeply. “Wasn’t he supposed to be his friend? Just look at him now – another Council lackey wannabe!” 

Jane stopped in her tracks to face Liara. Her features were contorted in a violent snarl. The redhead projected hatred and disgust like rays of radiation. Liara could swear she could feel the heat coming from her friend on her skin. When Jane spoke it came out as if she was spitting out toxic waste. 

“My dear prothean expert, do you know what the Council had done with our warnings? Shoved them up our collective asses, that's what! They have contained the remnants of Sovereign. Labeled it the newest geth invention. Ha! The Citadel networks are probably still screaming about the _'geth attack'_! Or Saren's attempt to conquer the Citadel. All mentions of the Reapers have been scrubbed off the Citadel's terminals. How about a kicker, huh? What was left of Saren's cybernetic body was conveniently destroyed in transit! He had asked me to save those blind, stubborn, arrogant fuckers and what do they do now? Hide their heads up each others asses! _Sixty seven ships!_ Is that the thank you those men and women deserve?! Is that the thank you I get for almost having my brain scrambled into gray mush just so that the potheans could deliver a fucking message?!” 

Jane inhaled heavily apparently not finished with her speech. 

“No! No-no, no! I am so done with all of this bullshit! No one listened to me, to him!” Jane gestured to Liara, pointing at her with brutal motions. “No one listened to _you!_ The expert, goddamned prothean scientist! This fucking galaxy can go straight up the Reapers throats! Let them choke on it! Agrgaaagh!” 

Jane screamed brandishing her fists at the ceiling. Then she stumbled backwards to the wall and slid down to the floor. She was changing moods from anger to depression at a flip of a switch somewhere inside of her. Witch was being flipped with worrying frequency. The redhead sighed sitting up in an exhausted pile against the wall. She spoke again in a hollow, broken voice: 

“John... He did not deserve his memory to be treated this way. I... I wanted to go there, get his body. I don't know, bring it back to Mindoir, spread the ashes in the forests where we hid and survived as kids. But... I couldn't. The mere thought of going back to that place...” 

She groaned and hid her face in her hands. Jane did not hear the quiet, soft steps. She winced as the gentle blue hands slowly took her own away from her face. Liara was kneeling in front of her. The asari was smiling, but her eyes remained serious. 

“ _I_ was there. Got a small ship, expedition crew. I went to Alchera to retrieve John’s and whoever else' bodies.” 

“You did?” All the hurt and anger that dominated Jane's features so much were replaced with an incredulous frown. 

“I did.” confirmed Liara.

“So... Did you get him?” Jane could not bring herself to utter the word “body” out loud.

The asari averted her eyes.

“No. It did not go well. We were ambushed. Someone else was after his body as well. They took it away. I'm sorry, Jane. That is one of the reasons I need your help.”

The redhead straightened up, there was a small flicker of renewed fire deep within her emerald eyes. She leaned forward and gripped tightly at Liara's arms.

“Tell me everything!” she demeaned fervently.

 

 


	4. Jane: The Ripple Effect, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I've been busy with things for a while, but here's a new chapter. Remember, the narration for this story happens out of chronological order. This time we're going back to ME1. Mostly exposition to clear up so of the questions raised by the previous chapters. It was a lot of fun creating all the new characters and inserting all the dialogue tidbits from the games. Part 2 is coming up next where the plan will be revealed in more detail.

The large conference room was lit very strategically. Powerful omnidirectional projectors provided the precisely needed amount of lighting where needed while at the same time keeping most of the room in uneasy twilight. Enormous window that was replacing the back wall showcased the opposite side of the Arcturus station against the backdrop of space. Blinking faraway stars only intensified that intimidating feeling the architects of this hall were going for.

This place was usually used for backroom deals and sensitive deliberations involving the unofficial dealings of the Admiralty Board. The ominous looking room was witness to secret negotiations preceding the peace treaties, deliberations that resulted in wars being declared and panning of the most classified operations in the Alliance history. If the metal walls of this room could speak the stories they would tell could topple anyone's imagination. Proceedings were kept strictly off the books except for one tightly guarded archive. Archive exclusively available to the Admirals themselves.

Meeting called on this day was one of the most important and the most secretive that were ever held in this conference room. In attendance were only the highest raking Admirals plus two individuals that received orders to be there. Some of attendees could not be make it to Arcturus in person so the carefully orchestrated atmosphere of the room was slightly broken by the gentle glow of see-through holograms.

The older man sitting at the center of the main table cleared his throat. He was gifted with a large figure positively towering over the others at the table. Sometime in his youth he probably was a very handsome, muscular officer with a strong jaw and full head of curly hair. But time had taken it's due: the man sitting at the head of the table was completely bold, his face was covered with age lines, the posture while still straight was obviously weighted down by years and heavy responsibilities. His darkened olive skin starkly contrasted with a magnificent white perfectly kept beard. Admiral Ron Stamos, head of the Admiralty Bard and the Alliance Navy.

The old Admiral was well-respected and beloved by high ranking officers and regular soldiers alike. He had served on so many ships and postings through his career he himself could barely remember all the names and places anymore. Participated in most of the conflicts humanity had a hand in over the last five decades. He should have long retired, but no one had the courage or the gall to tell that to his face. Stamos once had a temper befitting of a man of Sicilian descent, but that hot young blood had left his body many years ago.

Murmurs of quiet conversations had stifled, everyone’s attention shifted to focus on the the Admiral.

“As everyone presented undoubtedly knows,” he glanced at two holo figures seated, in a manner of speaking, at the table across. “we are gathered to discuss the upcoming selection of a new Spectre. The Alliance has to present a candidate for consideration to the Council. Induction of a human into the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Branch of the Council would be a tremendous achievement for the Alliance. The purpose of this meeting is to deliberate on the candidate that could best represent the Systems Alliance.”

Appointment of a human Spectre will have long reaching consequences. Specters act with authority superseding that of the Council member races respective military’s. A very dangerous proposition.

There was a heated debate if the Alliance should even attempt to put a human in such position when the chance presented itself the first time around. Many in the Alliance military did not see eye to eye with the Council's policy on the Spectres. Armed to the teeth self-sufficient agents outside of chain of command with ultimate authority and only answering to a bunch of aliens somewhere far away? Preposterous! The same conservatives that kept pushing the Senate to distance the Alliance from the alien governments and the whole structure of the Citadel Council were loudly against even attempting to allow a human Spectre to be inducted.

The progressives won out in the end. Politicians and many of the military leaders saw the benefits of the Alliance strongly pursuing its interests on the arena of galactic politics. If humanity were to take its rightful place among the stars they had to play by the Council's rules. The possibilities, all they had to benefit from commerce and growing influence the Systems Alliance managed to acquire, not to mention the ever growing territorial additions – all of the gains outweighed the possible downsides the conservatives were threatening with.

All that, however, did not mean that the Board would let such matters go unattended or leave them in the hands of the politicians and ambassadors. Admiral Stamos looked to his left and right noticing the concentration his fellow Admirals were showing on their faces. Seven Admirals. Almost the full roster of the Admiralty Board. They understood the gravity of this decision.

To the left of Admiral Stamos were seated three Admirals. He let his eyes linger on each one of them for a moment before continuing the meeting.

Steven Hackett. Commanding officer of the Fifth Fleet. That older man was a legend among the Alliance. Born in Buenos Aires, enlisted at the age of eighteen. The rarity that was his ascend from enlisted man to a Fleet Admiral had gathered him plenty of recognition and some adoration from the man under his command. Even though the years had made his face gritty, placed the age lines at his nose and eyes, made his short hair and neatly kept goatee gray, his steely blue eyes were still as sharp as the day he put on the officers uniform.

Stamos remembered him as young Lieutenant during the First Contact War, an experienced, calculating Captain later and knew him as an extremely capable Admiral now. Hackett was an expert tactician, but personally Ron regretted his unyielding loyalty to the Alliance standards, the very ones that inspired him to enlist in the first place. He always was an adventurer, the man looking for the final frontier. Certain form of romanticism witch could not be extinguished by wars or hardships.

Nitesh Singh, CO of the Third Fleet, was seated on Hackett's left. He was of Indian descent: his dark skin, black eyes and hair made him hard to make out against the backdrop of space. He was born to a pair of wealthy Senators. As third son in a family guided by tradition more than anything he could not rely on his inheritance. Instead he was send to the Academy. It would have been a mistake to underestimate him. Singh knew the ins and outs of Arcturus station like the back of his hand. Not to mention his signature talent – tactical control of a force of any size or makeup. Some even called it premonition: Nitesh made it look like he knew what the enemy was going to do in advance.

Richard Talbott, head of the Marine Corps including Spec Ops, Black Ops and Special Research Projects. The black man was seating at the very edge of the slightly curved official desk half-hidden in the shadows. He was swirling an unlit thin cigar between his fingers with skill that betrayed countless hours of practice. The only non Fleet Admiral at the table, this man arguably had more reach and influence than all of them combined. The head of counterintelligence division always made the impression that he knew more than you and oftentimes that assessment was true. Unlike Nitesh he positively savored the theatrics of military proceedings. Still, he somehow managed to be unobtrusive most of the time unless he actually wanted to be noticed.

To the right of Ron – another trio of Admirals. All of them came from long lines of military families. Alliance Navy royalty. Most if not all members of their families were either still serving in lucrative positions or rested on their laurels enjoying well earned retirement. They have climbed the ladder just like any other career officer, but those three also had the reputation of their family name to keep.

Ines Lindholm, tall Scandinavian brunette, she carried herself with the dignity of a duchess and strict discipline of boarding school teacher. Her white skin starkly contrasted with long inc black hair put together in a braid. It was flipped over her shoulder to the front and went down to the middle of her chest. The woman had a birthmark just above her blood red lips on the left side. Naming the Admiral a femme fatale would not be wrong, but one doing so would risk being called out on the floor and getting his ass handed to him. During her career Ines collected belts from a multitude of martial arts like others collected toy models or personalities cards. She was the commanding officer of the First Fleet, the largest and most powerful in the Alliance Navy.

Eleanor Troy, CO of the Fourth Fleet, next to Lindholm presented a very different picture. Daughter of London, she did not waste any chance to get some tan, her light green eyes were way warmer than the cold blue ones of her friend to the left. The bronze smooth wavy tresses were scattered about her shoulders. Only two years ago that would have been against the regulations even in the lax atmosphere of this secret meeting, even while being off duty. But times have been changing. With three woman on the Board the regulations had been dusted off and rewritten several times already. And not just the ones concerning the length of allowed hair for women or men, but also uniform material concerns, contacts with aliens, the state of rations, maintenance and schedules of full medical examinations for all military personal. Troy while being a consummate diplomat knew exactly how to get what she wanted.

Hoshiro Takei, commanding officer of the Sixth Fleet. The small Japanese man seated at the most right did not present a very imposing sight, but that first impression was very deceptive. Clean shaven, sporting a short haircut and immaculately clean uniform he was the perfect picture of a military man – reliable, pedantic, punctual. However, behind those black eyes was a sharp, calculating mind of a natural leader. Coming form a large and influential clan he was taught military strategy almost from birth. The Takei Clan had its reputation to uphold, after all they could trace their lineage to the late Emperors. Hoshiro had a long career rather perceived as controversial in certain military and political circles. Most of witch was classified to this day. No wonder he was on such good terms with Admiral Talbott.

Stamos moved his eyes over to the two guests at the desk opposite the podium. The soft glow of their holograms created complex light patterns on the black surface of the desk in front of them. There was a polite frown on Captain Anderson's face, his uneasy companion, Ambassador Udina, presented a very stiff, uncomfortable picture. The politician was obviously more at ease in the company of other politicians like himself.

He knew both of them well, the former through reports and several times their paths intersected, the latter only by reputation and very detailed dossier Talbott provided of the man. Stamos did not particularly like Donnel Udina, although more accurate would be to say that he did not hold any strong feelings towards the man one way or the other. There was nothing special about the politician. Born to wealthy industrialists on Earth, attended a prestigious University, made a small fortune playing the market in his late twenties and used that money to found his first campaign. Slowly, but steadily he climbed the ladder making friends in right circles. Udina's highest achievement was to be appointed to the human Embassy on the Citadel where he quickly positioned himself to take over the ambassadorial duties when the time came. He had always been a centrist, ultimately only concerned with stabilizing and cementing humanity's standing in galactic politics and, by extension, his own. Taking that into account the Admiralty wrote him off as a known quantity, reliable, but also easily swayed to hold the right course.

Captain Anderson, on the other hand, had a much more colorful resume. Ironically one of the most decorated special forces soldiers had no prior military background in his family. He was born a third child to a nurse and a flight mechanic. Yet despite that, or perhaps because of his upbringing, he was one of the top cadets at the Academy. Breaking records in class, setting impressive example during field training he eventually was chosen to be one of the first to be enrolled in the N7 program. After he graduated Lieutenant David Anderson received a personal commendation from Rear Admiral Jon Grissom himself. Anderson served with distinction in the First Contact War, then on SSV Hastings. He had proven to be one of Alliance best and brightest.

That is when his star, seemingly on the rise, had suddenly became bleaker. The incidents on Sidon and Dah'tan were black marks on his previously spotless record. The progressives in the Alliance were pushing for a human Spectre to improve the perception of humanity on the galactic stage. Naturally, the candidacy of David Anderson was forwarded to the Council. But then Dah'tan happened. The contradictory accounts of the incident painted both Anderson and Saren – the Spectre tasked with assessing the human – in very bad light. Given already tense relations with the turians the Admiralty decided not to press the issue, more so since there was no concrete evidence supporting either account. Regardless, Anderson's prospect of becoming a Spectre was promptly nullified.

Now Anderson was holding the rank of Captain and was recently given command of the SSV Normandy – a joined effort by the Systems Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy. Despite the mishaps with the Council Anderson was still in high regard in the Alliance. He was entrusted with the prototype ship, the first of its class: a deep scout frigate purposefully designed to undertake solo reconnaissance missions in large part because of its stealth heat venting technology and newest iteration of the drive core. The ship currently was orbiting Earth after the first test-jump through the Relay. It preformed exceptionally well during the multitudes of examinations and simulation scenarios. The Admiralty was preparing a number of possible real military missions for the frigate's official shakedown run.

The Captain was here in particular because of his familiarity with the Council, he had been personally involved in the matters of the Citadel, knew several Spectres. His experience, however unfortunate, could be very valuable in regards to today’s agenda.

“The floor is opened for nominations.” Stamos could not detach himself from official manner, although this meeting was anything but. Admiral Lindholm opened up the deliberations:

“I would like to nominate Commander Lyoness Hedley of the 103rd Marine Division.”

The spaces in front of the Admirals shimmered and were illuminated with holographic screens. Information on the nominee was presented to all the Admirals including biometrics, background overview, service record, personal files and two holos of the subject – full body and portrait size. The guests have received the same data packages and were studying them judging by the angle of their heads.

The woman on the holo was familiar to all present. She had been plastered all over the recruitment materials for almost seven years now. The very same posters and demovids that would be on the walls of the conference room were this meeting taking place in the officially designated quarters. On the reels Commander Hedley always stood atop of a rocky formation in full armor sporting her very own patented look. Her custom made armor was black and dark blue modified with extra plating, there were boosters attached to her legs, a grenade launcher mounted on her right arm. Her chest plate looked angular because of the unconventional design, it was covered with a bright red pattern like someone splashed her from a bucket of fresh paint. She was standing with one foot residing on a rock and holding her signature broad powerblade.

The weapon was her own invention. Unlike the monomolecular blades that were being introduced to the Spec Ops teams at this very time her weapon could be used like a bludgeon propelled by powerful kinetic charge and releasing electroshock’s against enemy shields or it could release hidden monomolecular edge and be just as lethal as its smaller counterparts. Commander had the powerblade perched on her shoulder laying behind her head, her left hand was gripping the handle. Hedley was ambidextrous, but preferred to use her left arm for slicing and her right for shooting. At least, that's what she told the ANN reporters.

Hedley did not wear a helmet, neither on the posters and nor on the battlefield. It was a widely known fact that she deemed helmets a distraction and relied on her shields, that mantra even created a movement of sorts among the other marines. Too many wanted to follow her example, however, so Alliance Command quickly and decisively cleared up their heads. What was permissible for a highly trained, decorated and proven soldier, all around icon that Hedley was, could not be willy-nilly allowed throughout the lower ranks.

Her long blonde hair was neatly tied up in a bun at the back of her head. Smooth oval of her face, curved wings of eyebrows, straight nose – anyone could have called her beautiful if not for one immediately evident difference. Her blue eyes had that determined, strong willed, but also almost haunted look and her mouth rarely spread out in a smile as if locked perpetually in an annoyed frown or resolute smirk.

But those were recruitment posters and vidreels, the personal file holos in front of them had the Commander standing at ease in her off-duty uniform. Even so not much had changed about her look. The same determined frown, the same straight gaze. Hedley kept her hair up while off-duty, but preferred simpler black marine fatigues instead of the officers uniform. It did underline the absolute top physical form she was in, though.

“Good choice.” commented Stamos, he started to narrate some of her record: “Staff Commander Lyoness Hedley. Born on February 23rd, 2154 in London, Earth. Her mother Genevieve Hedley is the Headmistress of N5 Branch of the Academy. Her father, Edmund Hedley, died in the First Contact War. She had graduated from the Academy with full N7 honors in...”

Admiral Lindholm reclined back in her chair and leaned closer to Admiral Troy. Not very many in the chain of command knew, but those two were really good friends for many years, a long time ago there was even a rumor that it was much more than just friendship, but it was quickly squashed by both women and, surprisingly, the internal affairs division. This room had more than just superficial visual design the architects put their effort into, by just reclining back and keeping their voices a level lower the Admirals could converse without fear of being overheard by people at the table opposite.

“I have heard she prefers to go by her middle name – Rose, is that true? Your families are close, aren't they, Leonor?”

Troy mirrored the movement of her friend and answered with a satisfied smile.

“Well, yes, we are acquainted. And you are correct in assuming that Hedley does not like her old fashioned first name, but that's about all I can tell you. Her mother is not the easiest person to love. You know how complicated military families can be. To say they are estranged would be an understatement. Lyoness goes by her first name in all official papers, but with her friends she prefers her middle name. I'm not included on that list. I had been friends with Genevieve since I was little, that did not earn me any points with her daughter. I think, she wants to prove to her mother that she can do just fine without her. Remind you of anyone?”

Ines thew her a look that did not promise anything good. That did not bother Eleanor in the slightest; knowing perfectly well that they were hidden in the cleverly orchestrated shadows – indiscernible for their guests and the other properly sitting Admirals, but perfectly visible to each other – she smiled wryly with a twinkle in her eyes. The dark brunette pursed her red lips in annoyance.

“That was not why I chose her. It had nothing to do with my father. He's dead. Leave it be, Leonor.”

“As you wish.”

They both returned their attention to the proceedings just in time to hear Stamos stopping abruptly after Hedley's first assignment. He turned around at the other Admirals showing he was waiting for their thoughts. Admiral Hackett cleared his throat.

“Commander Hedley represents our best and brightest. An N7 graduate, spotless record. We all know her defining moment, but I will bring it up again. She proved herself during the Blitz. Held off enemy forces on the ground on her own until the reinforcements arrived. She's the only reason Elysium is still standing. I would say we have our first solid candidate for the Spectre nomination.”

“I'm not so sure, Admiral.” took his turn Singh. “Hedley is without a doubt the best soldier we have. She would not be the official 'face' of the Alliance if not for her heroic, exceptional service record. Most of the Alliance considers her a war hero and rightfully so. However, we need to think about this nomination politically. Commander is known for her views on the Citadel, the Council and humanity's standing in galactic policy-making. I am convinced that will not fare well with the Councilors. We would be wise to be a bit more cautious, attempt to avoid what happened the last time.” he glanced at the holograms at the other desk. “No offense, Captain Anderson, I hope you understand.”

“None taken. If I may interject, Admirals?” Anderson politely waited for a nod from Stamos before continuing. “Admiral Singh is right. Even with as impressive record as hers, Commander Hedley views on the Council and distribution of power in the galaxy are too widely known to slip past the Councilors radar. They will not agree to work with someone who they might presume is only working with them because that someone was ordered to. The same goes for Hedley herself. I'm sure she will not object to a direct order from the Board, but she will not wholeheartedly believe in what she will have to be doing. Could you think of something more dangerous for a soldier? I can not.”

“Perhaps, someone so close to the center of humanity – Earth, someone coming from a long line of Alliance military would not be such a good fit for being a Spectre.” Admiral Takei narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “It's no wonder that Commander Hedley puts the Alliance interests first and well above the interests of aliens. I can attest to it myself, I do not think giving unrestrained power and authority to the Council representatives is such a grand idea. Especially so if we don’t have a say in their decisions.”

“The debate on this matter had already been decided. We are here to find a candidate to put before the Council. Not to return to the question whether we should.”

“All I am saying is that maybe we should look at someone further away from the heart of the Alliance.”

“What about the Shepards? They grew up in the colonies.” Nitesh Singh pressed some keys on his holo interface recalling the proper files.

The dossier and holo-models of Lyoness Hedley disappeared. Emptied frame shimmered and separated in two. They were filled with new data. Biometrics, service records and reviews on two soldiers. A man and a woman. Lieutenant Commander John Shepard and Major Jane Shepard. The case files were remarkably similar, except the latter had an extra paragraph on the manifestation of her biotics in 2168, detection and surgery in 2171, serial number and maintenance history of her L3 implants. Next to the case files were two pairs of holos – full sized and portraits.

Unlike Commander Hedley both John and Jane were wearing their official Alliance uniforms – navy blue for John and black for Jane. Commander Shepard was tall, he preferred the standard buzz-cut, but elected to keep a slight bristle instead of being cleanly shaven. His blue eyes looked openly from the holos. He presented a very positive picture, somehow he did inspire people to immediately trust him, a trait not strictly necessary for an officer, but one that many aspired to have. Still, there was something behind his eyes, something familiar. Perhaps, the same determined, slightly haunted expression as in the similarly blue eyes of Lyoness Hedley? It was hidden deeper, at the very bottom, away from the people, though it was there non the less. That hidden drop of sadness betrayed some hard experiences, but ones that made him wiser, stronger, not broken his spirit.

His sister could not be more unlike her brother if she tried. Much shorter the Major had fiery bright red hair cut off two fingers above the shoulders according to the old regulations. Her face was covered with freckles making her emerald eyes pop even more. There was a confident smirk on her face and she was standing at attention with barely perceptible angle to the camera. It made Jane look more imposing witch considering her short height and slim composure was impressive. The apparent ease it took her to achieve the desired effect spoke volumes as well. Out of the three candidates so far she was the only one who practically beamed, exulted from her holo. Instead of experienced, wise and detached leader, she gave the impression of not only being confident of what she was doing, but also enjoying her job.

“Hmm, I would say it's exactly what Admiral Takei was talking about. They know how tough life can be out there. Mindoir, right?” Nitesh turned to Hackett.

The older Admiral was skimming the dossiers with a thoughtful look. He knew the situation first hand.

“Yes, the Shepards were born on Mindoir. You all know what happened. In 2170 the colony was attacked by batarian slavers. During that time – at 16 no less! – they survived, however the attackers had killed almost everyone on the colony including their whole family. According to the field investigators they were on the run hiding in the forest for two months, even killed some batarian scouts. Both of them enlisted with the Alliance a few years later.”

“What do you mean 'according to the investigators'?” asked Admiral Lindholm.

Hackett grimaced, there was clear disgust written on his face.

“As you know I was investigating all slaver and pirate attacks in the wake of Skyllian Blitz. It occurred six years after the slaughter on Mindoir, but many of the pirates responsible for that atrocity had been spotted in that rag-tag fleet above Elysium as well as on the ground. The story of two kids that survived along with just a few more colonists had crossed my desk. If you look at the dossiers more closely it states that they have a case of retrograde amnesia. Neither does remember how the attack occurred or what happened before. They had regained some memories of their family, but nothing more than blurry bits.”

“Have they been cleared by the medical examiners?” immediately reacted Admiral Troy while scanning the files rapidly with her own eyes.

“Yes, they have been. Otherwise they would not be allowed to enter the Academy, let alone graduate with full N7 honors.” retorted Admiral Lindholm, there was a tiny shadow of a smile at the corner of her lips.

“Admiral, I know you well enough to assume you have been following their careers since that file landed on your desk.” Stamos was observing Hackett with some measure of approval. “Witch one do you want to start with? Anything from either Shepard's military record you'd like to call out?”

Hackett slowly turned his head towards the black man at the edge of the table. There was sensible tension between them even though it was well hidden below the surface.

“The careers of the twins had separated after they have graduated. John had continued his service in the Navy while Jane was drafted by another division. The counterintelligence considers Jane Shepard their go-to Black Ops soldier that gets the job done no matter the cost. Ruthless, calculating and brutal.”

Admiral Talbott parted his teeth in a blinding smile.

“The Major is one of my most trusted operatives. She gets results. Covert operations units are not the place for ethnics and high moral stances. Efficiency and pragmatism, that is what I expect from my agents.”

Hackett narrowed his eyes.

“What about Torfan?”

“What about it?” Talbott shrugged unimpressed by the argument.

“She got most of her unit killed. Slaughtered hundreds of slavers and pirates, even those who were attempting to surrender.”

“Major also had broken through the most fortified and heavily defended base on that planet. The main fortress. If she did not we would have had to stay there for another month, possibly longer. Shepard had eliminated the bulk of their leadership. If she didn't and they had escaped, there would have been another Torfan somewhere else. Major Shepard should be regarded as a hero.“

“They call her the Butcher of Torfan. A name befitting of a _hero_.”

“She doesn't mind.” Talbott chuckled at the nickname. “Neither do I.”

“Excuse me, Admirals, but is that the kind of person we want protecting the galaxy?” interrupted Ambassador Udina. Talbott turned his face to him, his blinding smile widened.

“That's the only kind of person who _can_ protect the galaxy. However, I presume the Councilors do not hold the same views as I am. Or at the very least they pretend not to. Politics calls for that deliciously hypocritical take on PR. They will not publicly acknowledge or approve of a soldier with such record. Furthermore, I'm sure they will not look lightly at her particular relationship with the batarians.”

“The Butcher of Torfan...” drawled Lindholm. “I remember her. The First Fleet took point during that operation. There were some hushed accounts of Major Shepard going through batarian mercenaries like a hurricane. They say she ordered the executions of over a hundred surrendering slavers – all batarian. Of course, no official records of that incident exist.”

“Even if that was true...” Talbott was wearing an overly skeptical expression that did not fool any of the Admirals. “Would you blame her after what you just heard about her per-service history?”

“That does not excuse...!” began Hackett, but he was cut short by a raised hand. Talbott always could calm down the situation when he wanted to.

“In any case, Jane Shepard is off the table. Her talents would be wasted in service of the Council. As her commanding officer I can not allow that to happen.”

There were some agitated looks thrown at the dark skinned Admiral, Troy rolled her eyes hidden from sight of the guests. Stamos coughed and his voice caught everyone's attention.

“What about Commander John Shepard?”

“Looking through his files, Lieutenant Commander had been an exemplary soldier. Loyal, disciplined, quick to make the right decisions under pressure. He had showed quite a talent for leadership during the final N7 examination. And throughout his career he did not show any unsavory inclinations. But we can ask his commanding officer.” the smile Hackett gave Stamos was barely noticeable hidden in his goatee. “Captain Anderson, can you provide some insight into your XO?”

“Of course, Admiral, it would be my pleasure. It is all stated in his service record. Shepard had served with distinction since graduating. But that's only the reports, I know the man. Worked with him, fought with him. Trust him with my life. Shepard's had some rough patches. Who of us hasn't. At heart he is a good soldier, loyal to the Alliance, but also looking to straighten our position through diplomacy first rather than resolving every conflict with the use of force.”

“What do you mean by rough patches?” acutely picked up on the detail Anderson was keeping back Admiral Lindholm. She was answered by Hackett instead.

“Early in his career John Shepard alone survived a Thresher Maw attack. He saw his whole unit die on Akuze, he could have some serious emotional scars.”

“Every soldier has scars. Shepard is a survivor. That's the kind of strength, the kind of grit he has. That mission would have broken many of good soldiers I know, but it did not break him. He brought back every single dog tag of his men from Akuze. God only knows how he managed that.”

“We can't question his courage.” admitted Takei.

“Humanity needs a hero. A hero that could be seen as such by the Council. And John Shepard's the best we've got.”

“You are showing your bias, Captain. That's very high praise coming from his own commanding officer.” interjected Admiral Troy with a smile.

“I speak the truth, Admiral. Commander Shepard is the perfect candidate for Spectre nomination. He is not known for for controversial views that would alienate the Council. He had proven himself capable leader and a reliable soldier. Based on everything I know about the Councilors he is the most likely candidate they might approve of. And that's the best we can hope for.”

“Any follow up questions? Otherwise John Shepard's candidacy will be presented to the Council for consideration.” Ron addressed the Board looking form face to face. The decision seemed a bit abrupt, yet he could not see any objections. It was as if the minute they found the fitting piece of the puzzle it slid into place on its own. Stamos knew his colleagues well, he could see doubt on the faces of some Admirals, but they could not voice them. Ron got tiny nods from five of the Admirals and only two slightly shook their heads.

“It seems the nomination is accepted.” concluded Admiral Stamos. “Ambassador Udina, you have your Spectre candidate. We will leave the rest to you.”

“Thank you, Admirals. I will start on the paperwork immediately.” He stood up, bowed his head ever so slightly and flickered out disconnecting.

“Captain Anderson, you are dismissed. We thank you for your testimony.”

Anderson saluted respectfully and closed the connection as well. The Admirals remained in the room by themselves. After several minutes of contemplating silence Admiral Takei turned around to face his colleagues.

“For all the admirable virtues Commander John Shepard undeniably had displayed he is also an unpredictable figure. He and David Anderson are ones of our best and brightest officers without a doubt. Straight off the recruitment posters representing all the Alliance stands for. But we all know that is not what counts when the push comes to shove.”

“I agree,” nodded Admiral Troy. “Honor, loyalty, duty. All those are great things to impress the Council with and put on motivational vids. However, like Hoshiro said, at some point honor flies out of the window in the face of more important decisions. We need someone who can weight the wellbeing of many against the white knight ethics.”

“The nomination has already been decided, Leonor.” interjected Hackett. “There's nothing else we can do about it. I can see your point, but we have to trust that Commander is the best choice we could make.”

Admiral Troy made to retort, but she was cut short by the calm deep baritone from the other end of the desk.

“What if there is a way to go around this problem?” The baritone belonged to the black man smiling his sparkling white teethed grin. Talbott, again. Naturally, the person in charge of counterintelligence had a slippery way out. The eyes of everyone focused on him.

“If the Council accepts the nomination, or rather when the Council makes John Shepard a Spectre, he will need a team, a base of operations. Witch means,” he paused in almost theatrical way. “judging by his profile he would not want to leave the Alliance. Spectre Shepard will need Alliance personnel, resources. There in lies our insurance, a sure way to protect Alliance interests.”

“What exactly are you suggesting, Richard?” said Hackett with a raised brow.

“Oh, it's all very simple, Steven. First, we reassign David Anderson. He has too much influence on his protege. Secondly, we present the Normandy as his base of operations. He is already familiar with the ship and it would be a perfect tool for a newly minted Spectre. However, we add one small, but important caveat to this arrangement.” He paused again obviously for effect. “John Shepard will not be in charge of the ship. We will appoint our own commanding officer. Someone who can manage both the Normandy and the brand new human Spectre. Steer him away from dangerous waters and keeping an eye out for the Alliance. I know just the right person for that job.”

The Admirals exchanged understanding looks. Stamos spoke in a slow, contemplating voice running a hand over his beard.

“I am positive we all agree with this proposal. It will ensure at least some security if things go south. However, we must thread very carefully. The Council doesn't like interference with Spectres. The orders will have to be absolutely clear.”

“We have enough time to formulate the perfect orders. The important issue right now is that we are all in agreement. Ayes have it?”

All Admirals nodded to each other confirming their resolve. The quiet murmur of “aye” rustled through the secret room.

On that scene the video faded to black and stopped. Jane shifted in her chair looking up above the terminal. She set the smaller screen across the compartment to display the travel time. Just under five hours until her frigate reached the Citadel. Almost everything happened exactly as he planned. Talbott had always been a slippery, conniving bastard! Jane chuckled. The man had earned her respect despite his theatrics and tendency to be an ass underneath all that charming facade. All he cared about was protecting the Alliance. They were the sleepless guardians hidden in the shadows. How many times did the counterintelligence division prevent another Mindoir, another Skyllian Blitz from happening? How many terrorism acts, sabotage, alien incursions into Alliance space, sails of WMD's and outbreaks of deadly viruses have been stopped? Only a few people at the top knew and that was exactly the pont.

Talbott understood how the world worked and so did she. There are people in the world who deal only in extremes. It would be naive to think anything less than extreme measures will stop them. John had tried tirelessly to change her mind, but Jane knew better, saw clearer. Every time she felt herself being just a little bit swayed, the universe wound find a cruel way of proving her right. Last time it was a black market smuggler selling biological weapons designed to only work on aliens to Terra Firma. This time its was Eden Prime. Places changed, circumstances changed, people never did.

They knew the geth were coming. They were prepared, Jane though Talbott had planned for every contingency. Turned out, not so much. Not everything had gone according to plan. Some things could not be foreseen, even by her boss who sometimes seemed like he could see the future. They did not prevent the tragedy this time.

Jane sighed pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She knew there had to be failures, some times the Black Ops units were not fast enough or prepared enough. Knowledge and understanding did not make it any easier. One failed mission out of ten successful ones is still a failure. Impossible standards were her worst enemy ever since the Academy, ain't that right?

The Academy... It is curious how no one in that meeting had noticed one little detail: all three of their candidates were graduates of the very same N7 class. Jane smiled remembering the good old days. She, John and Rose were the best of friends. Inseparable. It wasn't such a coincidence that all three of them ended up being discussed at that meeting. They were at the top of their class, always trying to one-up one another. Striving to be the best soldiers possible. True, their motivations differed, but the result was the same.

John was dreaming of becoming that perfect Alliance role-model he idolized. The honorable and virtuous. To be the leader that inspires people to be better than they are. He had always been such a blind optimist, though determined to reach that impossible goal. Jane worked just as hard for a different reason. She wanted to protect people. To make sure the same awful, terrible _thing_ did not happened to anyone else. Mindoir did not have to become an empty colony, there had to be another way! And, god dammit, she was going to find it!

Rose was another story. Her father died when she was three years old. She had to be raised by her mother who was more preoccupied with her career after the death of her husband rather than their daughter. What Lyoness Hedley got was the Headmistress of the Academy, the feared and respected Genevieve Hedley, strict, uncompromising and absent most of the time. Rose grew up into an obedient, hard working and decisive cadet, but secretly she hated her role, the legacy of her family name, the absence of friends and loved ones for the most of her life. She despised her old fashioned first name – the stamp of her belonging to the Hedley family line. What she loved was her middle name, Rose, the only reminder of her father.

Their friendship started as rivalry. They were the top students, how could the Headmistress let two no-names from some backwater colony be better than her daughter? She pushed her to study harder, train more. Yet one day they all stumbled upon each other in the garden behind the Science Building only to discover that it was their favorite spot. The three of them got talking and a week later what Genevieve Hedley was thinking mattered a lot less. That time was filled with laughter, pranks, enjoyable competition and good company. Quite possibly the happiest times of her life, thought Jane sitting quietly in the dimly lit cabin.

The trio made it a point to meet from time to time, to keep in touch. They have met after Elysium and Torfan and Akuze. What would the masses have thought of them if they saw the intimate moments they shared?

The Lioness of Elysium – a nickname Rose hated with a passion – lying on a hospital bed in a private room letting Jane put balsam on her wounds. There were so many. It was a miracle she survived at all, let alone eliminated a whole battalion of enemy troops on her own. Jane watched over her as she regained her strength, John dragged Rose to sparring sessions until she gotten her confident stride back. And later they both made fun of her for appearing on every single recruitment poster for four straight years.

The Butcher of Torfan crying in Rose's arms after the worst fight Jane and John ever had. It was unbearable, Jane knew he would not approve of her methods, but the accusations he threw at her stung worse than any injury Jane could have sustained in battle. John had gotten his ass handed to him for that, Hedley was definitely not amused by the treatment he gave her best friend. “It doesn’t matter if you disagree! When she comes back from going through hell you support her, you prat!” Jane was secretly spying on that scene. The twins patched things up, became closer, more open and accepting of each others views in large part thanks to their blonde friend.

When John got back from Akuze they drank for all of his men together. The Sole Survivor. Jane had never seen his so depressed. He blamed himself for the mission, for the death of his men. They were under his command, he was responsible. Nothing Jane done made a dent on that doom and gloom. Rose tried to cheer him up by remembering all the rumors that were going around about her. _That_ worked, strangely enough.

Now one of them was going to become a Spectre. And another had to do something she was more used to. Might be a lot harder this time around, though. Jane lowered her gaze to the small OSD laying flatly on the desk to her right. It contained confirmation signatures of her orders. The redhead sighed. Jane was not looking forward to the conversation she was about to have.

**. . .**

It was unexpectedly easy to sneak past the C-Sec and the onlookers. Jane wanted to see that moment. Damn the orders and what she had to do next, right now all she wanted was to witness that ceremony! The parking lots around the Citadel Tower were packed. Apparently the news spread like wildfire. The decision had been made only half a day ago during the Council's closed session, but it seemed like the whole station knew by now.

The first human Spectre. Everyone wanted to see the ceremony. It could have been done sooner, but the Citadel was bugged down by bureaucracy worse than the Arcturus station by a light year. All things had to be done in proper order, the correct way and precisely measured intervals of time. Fortunately this time it had given her just enough time to get here and sneak up to the upper floors.

Jane was wearing her off-duty uniform, she wasn't really hiding – no one here knew who she was. The observation balconies were filled with all sorts of people. Turians, salarians, humans. There were some hanar and drell down below and one or two elcor were not let up the stairs. The enormous aliens had to watch the proceedings from the back rows of the first level. There was a batarian standing on the balcony she wanted to use. Jane grimaced in disgust and turned the corner. There was no way in hell she was going to watch this glorious moment next to this piece of scum!

The next balcony was packed with mostly salarians and a few humans. That's more like it. Down below the garden presented ever lovely picture. It was ironic how in the middle of an ancient space station they still tried to make it look like the surface of a planet. The dais of the Council was empty as was the walkway opposite. Jane glanced down at her Omni-tool. It was almost time, she made it barely with a few seconds to spare.

A gentle melody played in the hall making the murmurs dwindle down. It picked up and the Councilors stepped out of the small door on the right. They made their way to the middle of the dais where three elegant terminals waited for them. The asari in the middle, Councilor Tevos, the unofficial leader of the Council, spoke. Her perfectly leveled musical voice sounded over the crowd increased in strength by the speakers yet hardly in need of that. She prefaced every word in some subtle way, the Councilor was indeed a master of rhetoric.

“This special session of the Citadel Council is called today to commemorate an event that will undoubtedly be recorded in the history annals. We are gathered here to announce an addition to the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Branch of the Citadel. Commander Shepard – step forward.”

There was a raised murmur of voices in the crowd as two humans ascended the podium and walked side by side to where it was cut off before the Council. Both were wearing official navy blue uniforms decorated with all the medals and insignias in accordance of their status. Jane recognized the second man from the holos and the video she just re-watched. Captain David Anderson, John's mentor. But the identity of that man was immediately forgotten as she lay eyes on her brother.

John was wearing a polite, but very satisfied smile, his posture was straight and proud. He held his head high, and why shouldn't he? That was all he was striving for. Becoming a hero, a symbol for all the decent and good that was in the galaxy. Jane felt her heart clench with delight. She knew she was grinning from ear to ear and could not think of a better time or place to be doing just that.

Two man reached the end of the walk way with Anderson standing two steps behind his protege. John looked up at the Council awaiting their words, he was standing at attention like the three aliens in front of him were no different form the Captains and Admirals he used to answer to.

“It is the decision of the Council that you be granted all the powers and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Branch of the Citadel.” Tevos looked at the Commander and then rose her eyes towards the crowd connecting her words with everyone in the audience. The salarian Councilor continued after her:

“Spectres are not trained, but chosen. Individuals forged in the fire of service and battle; those whose actions elevate them above the rank and file.”

“Spectres are an ideal, a symbol.” Sparatus flange sounded strangely befitting of the moment making his voice deeper, more meaningful, underlining the importance of his words. “The embodiment of courage, determination, and self-reliance. They are the right hand of the Council, instruments of our will.”

“Spectres bear a great burden. They are protectors of galactic peace, both our firs and last line of defense. The safety of the galaxy is theirs to uphold.” Valern looked back to Tevos.

“You are the first human Spectre, Commander. That is a great accomplishment for you and your entire species.”

Jane focused her eyes on John again. He was standing there with his head held high, the perfect image of a hero, the savior this galaxy sorely needed. In this moment Jane really believed he could do it – change the nature of the universe, make people better, nobler, just like he was. He bowed his head giving his respects to the Council:

“I'm honored, Councilor.”

“You know your assignment, Spectre Shepard. We do not want to hold you any longer. Remember your duty to the galaxy and take your new responsibility as recognition of what you have achieved. This meeting of the Council is adjourned.”

The crowd exploded into applause. While the Councilors retreated through their door, the newly appointed Spectre shook Anderson's hand and smiled to the audience. It was a sight to behold. Jane leaned on the railings and sighed, her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. This was a glorious day, the most perfect moment. The culmination of what Johnny was working towards. She could not be more proud of him. Her smile slowly withered, subsided into the small ironic frown. Yup, Jane dared to believe the universe could be changed and the universe was in a hurry to prove her wrong! What could ruin that perfect day, this tremendous honor John had reached? How about his sister and her cruel if understandable orders? Jane grimaced in pain. She had to be on the ship when they arrive. And the memory of this ceremony would not make what she had to do any easier.

The Major slid through the crowd and out of sight. Jane had to prepare for one of the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. Have a talk with her brother.

 

 


End file.
